


Requiem Dies Irae

by lossifovna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Case Fic, Character Death, Multi, Organized Crime, Thriller, Violence, polar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25244176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lossifovna/pseuds/lossifovna
Summary: Stake outs, he decided, were the part of his job he liked the least, especially when he had been uncomfortably lying on the roof of a building under the heavy sun for the past couple of hours, watching over a muggle police station.Ron Weasley, twenty-eight years old and auror extraordinaire, had no idea that the case he was investigating was about to turn his life upside down, revealing the true personality of the man he had always considered his best friend, as well as unveil well kept secrets of the Department of Magical Justice.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter I - Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is a translation of my fic, Requiem Dies Irae.  
> My first language is French, and I have not written anything in English since I finished school, almost ten years ago ! I hope you can forgive my mistakes, as I don't have a beta for this work since mine only speaks french...  
> Anyway, I hope you'll like it, and if you do, leave me a kudo or a review ! ( ᐛ )و  
> (Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the work of JK Rowling and does not belong to me, I'm just borrowing the universe and the characters.)

Ron Weasley was late. Adjusting his bag over his shoulder, his thermos of coffee in hand, he crossed the atrium of the Ministry of Magic in a hurry. Despite the early hour the place was already in full effervescence, witches and wizards, workers as well as visitors, coming from and going to every directions. The young man had to slip carefully between them to get to the elevators.

As he got to the center of the atrium, he went round the huge golden fountain that was rebuilt after the Second War with Voldemort. The peacock blue ceiling that overlooked the hall, decorated with golden symbols slowly moving around, was making him forget about the warm sunny weather outside. At the far end of the large hall, he could see the lights of the Auror Office on the second floor.

In the lobby, a queue was already forming. Ron glanced up at the big clock, twenty-seven past nine. Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh. The night had been rough, Rose had woken up several times which was quite uncommon for her, and neither he nor Hermione had been able to really rest ; waking up this morning had been difficult.

The _ding_ announcing the arrival of the elevator brought his thoughts back to the present moment. He weaved in between the colorful crowd and pressed the button for the Department of Justice. Once on the second floor after a quick trip, he decided to make a short stop by the Division of Collaboration between Wizards and Muggles, also nicknamed DIVCO, to greet Harry who was working there.

The DIVCO had been created in the aftermath of the Second War to facilitate the enforcement of justice for crimes and offenses involving both wizards and muggles. There were in total five teams of aurors and five teams of representatives of muggle law enforcement, from police officers and detectives to prosecutors. The muggle teams were disseminated across the country and all of them were aware of the existence of the Wizarding World and had to respect the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.

Unlike the Auror Office where Ron worked, the DIVCO was decorated in a very muggle style. Once past the large glass door at the entrance of the division, visitors found themselves in a long luminous corridor. On one side there were big enchanted windows, displaying a view on a modern city center, and on the other side, a succession of offices accommodating the five teams working there.

The first office, without a door, was Patricia's, the secretary of the division. Sitting comfortably in a large armchair, she was sipping a cup of morning tea. 

Ron stopped to greet her “Good morning, Patricia !” His gaze fell on her sweater, orange angora wool with green dots. “Interesting choice of colors there. Looks really good on you, it brings out the colour of your eyes !”

“Always the charmer, Ronald ! Have a biscuit,” she said, pushing a small plate onto her desk towards him.

“Ah, thanks but I gotta watch my figure. Is Harry in ?”

“He must be at his desk, he was there quite early today” she answered, picking biscuit crumbs off her jumper with her index finger.

Ron thanked her and walked to the last office at the end of the corridor. A phone rang behind one of the closed door ; due to its connection to the muggle world, the DIVCO was the only department in the Ministry where muggle technology could actually work. The walls were decorated with various posters, images of muggle films, photographs of sportsmen and landscapes. A big cork board with notices and ads caught his eye. The young man particularly liked this sign, always finding interesting bits of information, unfortunately he didn’t have the time to stop and read them this morning. He finally reached his friend’s office.

Harry was alone in the room, the other two desks still unoccupied. He was hidden behind a monstrous pile of colourful papers sitting on his own desk. Flying notes seemed to come in incessantly, adding to his workload.

The rest of the room was just as messy. “ _Yes, but it’s an organised mess_ ” replied Harry every time someone would comment on it. The shelves seemed about to collapse anytime under the weight of the boxes full of files. In one corner of the room, miscellaneous clothes were hanged up on a rail, in case the aurors needed them in a mission in the muggle world. Walls were decorated with quidditch posters, photos and a sign obviously coming from the front of a pub, _The Hanging Bat_.

Harry looked up when he heard Ron knock on his door. He looked tired, dark circles spreading under his green eyes and his skin was pale, but his whole face lit up when he saw his best friend. “Ron ! Hey !” he said, waving his hand, “what brings you here ?”

“Just saying hi to my best mate” the red haired man answered, stepping forward into the room. “You got a lot of work ?”

“It just doesn’t stop, must be that time of the year. Each new case is more pressing than the one before.” Harry leaned back in his chair, stretching before crossing his hands behind his head.

“It’s the same for us in the Auror Office. I guess crime never takes breaks.” Ron glanced up just as a note flew past over his head. “I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages. Hermione misses you heaps, and we wanted to invite you for dinner sometime next week.”

Between work and family, Ron couldn’t remember when was the last time they had a chance to enjoy a nice evening out to the pub, just the two of them.

“I’d be glad to come” Harry said with a slight smile. “It’s been a while indeed, it’ll be good to see you both outside of the Ministry. How is Mione ? How’s Rosie doing ?”

“They’re good ! Hermione is really busy working on the new werewolves inclusion laws at the Department of Regulation. You know how she is when she gets into something she cares deeply about. And Rosie just keeps growing, she’s already two can you believe it ?! Time sure does fly…”

“Mmh” the dark haired auror thoughtfully agreed.

Ron quickly glanced at his watch. “I really gotta go, I’m already late enough as it is ! I’ll get back to you to tell you the day for the dinner !”

“You do that !”

After exchanging a goodbye sign Ron hurried to the Auror Office, situated on the same floor but on the other side of the Atrium. He passed under the big golden arcades overlooking the great hall and finally reached his destination.

The Auror Office was a lot larger than the DIVCO. The dominant style was older, definitely magical, with large arcades standing over an ochre corridor and light was pouring in the department from an enchanted glass ceiling. The floor made of waxed wood seemed to reflect the light on the walls. On either side of the corridor were the offices of the various teams, from which Ron could hear the murmur of conversations rising. He reached up the one he shared with his three teammates.

Olivia Crane, a young woman with brown skin and curly hair gathered in a messy bun, was half seated on the desk of her colleague, Cecilia Morton. The latter seemed deeply focused on the reading of a paper, absentmindedly combing her long blonde hair with her hand.

“Finally showing up for work, Weasley ?” Crane greeted him, her australian accent more pronounced than ever.

He answered her with a rude gesture and she let out a burst of laughter, sliding off the desk, her brightly coloured dress shifting lightly with her movements.

Crane and Morton were respectively twenty-seven and twenty-five years old and had been part of Ron’s team since its creation three years ago. At twenty-eight, he was the team leader and the most experienced auror.

Desmond Alderson was the youngest member of the team, having just turned twenty-three years old. He had joined the squad a few months earlier. Originally from North Africa, he had grown up in the United Kingdom. He worshipped Ron, Harry and Hermione, knowing everything about them. Becoming an auror had always been his dream.

“Fresh news of the day, Boss !” he welcomed Ron, handing him the day’s edition of The Daily Prophet with a bright smile.

“Thanks, Desmond.”

The auror had just dropped his bag on the floor when a coworker knocked on the door.

“Weasley, Robards wants to talk to you” he said before nodding his head to the rest of the team and leaving.

The door to Robards’ office was open, and he signaled for Ron to come in and sit as soon as he saw him.

“Sleeping late, Weasley ?” he asked even though his tone was devoid of reproach.

Gawain Robards had been the Head of the Auror Office since the end of the war. He was competent and appreciated by his colleagues despite his sometimes strict attitude.

“Sorry, chief. Rough night with Rose,” Ron answered, tiredly running a hand over his face.

“I know what it’s like. Just a bit of a hard time to go through.” His own children were now almost adults. He continued, “I wanted to know where you were in your investigation. Any news from your witness ?”

The case Ron and his team had been working on for the past few months was a real headache. At the request of the director of the Department of Justice, the office asked them to investigate the activities of one Bogdan Vasilyev, russian wizard crime lord whom had decided to settle down in the United Kingdom a few years earlier.

His organisation spread through a wide range of sectors, from drug and illegal potions dealing, magical creatures trafficking, bribery of politicians -muggles as well as wizards- intimidation, terrorism to murder. The man was a real ghost, the aurors couldn’t locate him and the investigation was stalling. Witnesses were scarce and those who agreed to talk were eliminated by Vasilyev’s men before they could even testify. There were rumours of corrupt aurors working for the russian, helping him by making witnesses disappear and destroying evidence. Internal investigations had been conducted but so far all of them had ended up in dead ends.

However, a week earlier, luck had smiled upon Ron and he had managed to apprehend a man suspected with fencing of illegal potions. Wilbur Smithers, a forty-something years old man of small stature, had admitted to working for Vasilyev. It was not the first time he had been arrested ; he had always been released but he had lost the criminal’s trust.

“ _I fear for my security and my family_ ” he had said during his interrogation by the aurors, “ _if I do become a troublesome witness, Vasilyev won’t hesitate for a moment to shut me up for good._ ” The Office had agreed to offer protection to the man and his family, only at the condition he helped them to catch the corrupt aurors working under Vasilyev’s orders.

The plan was simple. Smithers had to get arrested by muggle police and taken into custody. Bogdan Vasilyev had spies everywhere, the news would make rounds quickly. When a wizard was arrested by muggles, a request for transfer was made by the prosecutor’s office to the Ministry. Aurors were then sent to get the prisoner and bring him back to the DIVCO for questioning. 

“ _I heard that one of the prosecutors was involved with the london crime scene_ ” Smithers had said, “ _but I can’t remember his name…_ ”

If Vasilyev’s source was indeed the prosecutor, it would mean that the aurors who would show up for the transfert would probably be working for the russian. The man paid his allies generously and had a fair number of muggle politician up his pocket, as well as judges, lawyers and other members of the Ministry of Justice ; going after the prosecutor would be a waste of time and resources. Catching the aurors alive was the only way to get to the criminal.

A few months ago, Ron had been faced with a similar case. Leonard Mueller had been suspected of murdering a wizard, and the aurors were about to arrest him when the muggle police outpaced them and went to get him at his house with a warrant from the prosecutor’s office for theft with breaking and entering. The Auror Office managed to get custody of the prisoner to question him. He did leave his muggle holding cell, but had never reached the Ministry, seemingly vanishing into thin air. No doubt that Vasilyev’s men would proceed in the same way.

“ _They’ll seize this opportunity to make Smithers disappear, same as they did with Mueller_ ” Ron had told Robards then while giving in his report.

They decided to have a team placed in stake out close to the muggle precinct so they could intercept the traitors before they could get to Smithers. An auror would infiltrate the place a few days earlier to get informations and act as messenger between the witness and the team on D-Day. The plan had received approval from the director and Smithers had been released on surveillance and his family placed under protection.

“We’re still waiting for any news of his arrest. It shouldn’t take much longer, he has been spotted several times in the same neighbourhoods selling drugs,” the young auror told Robards, wrapping up his update.

He was browsing the newspaper, reading an article about the wizards' sudden craze for gobelin music, sipping his cup of hot coffee when an urgent note flew in. Before it reached him, Alderson caught it and read it, his face immediately lighting up. Setting down the milkshake he had in his hand, he rushed over to Ron.

“Boss ! Smithers !” he said with excitement, handing over the piece of paper, “He’s been arrested last night ! His transfer to the Ministry has been approved for this afternoon !”

“Are you kidding ?!” exclaimed Crane, from across the room.

She and Morton got up from their desks and came closer to read the message each in turn. They all exchanged looks, Ron could feel the adrenaline rush that accompanied field missions ; it was one of the reasons he loved his job. At last, after days of waiting, they were going to be able to carry out their plan. The rest of their morning was spent in the frenzy of the preparations and the repetition of the plan, nothing was to be left to chance.

At one o’clock, after a quick lunch, the three of them got ready in silence, putting on their uniforms, checking that their stealth spells were in place and went to the atrium to get to the apparition area. It was situated in a large room after the fireplaces corridor and full of workers coming back from their lunch break.

The team apparated in a small backstreet not far from the muggle precinct. With one final nod they all got to their position, each at a different location on the street so they wouldn’t leave any blind spot.

Two hours later, Ron was uncomfortably lying on the roof of a building opposite to the muggle police station, holding enchanted binoculars in his hands. From his position, he could observe the comings and goings of a few passers-by going about their daily business. The sun was high up in the sky, hitting quite strong for the month of june. The young auror wiped off sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and went back to his surveillance. A communication spell enabled him to contact his team, acting the same way muggle earpieces did.

“Any movement ?”

“Liv here, nothing to report.”

“Same for me,” Cecilia answered.

“Dead calm, Boss.” 

He grabbed his water bottle beside him and took a swig. The temperature seemed to be rising up and with a quick movement of his wand he cast a cooling spell on himself for the fifth time this afternoon.

A man in a black suit came out of the police station, a cigarette between his lips. He lit it up before throwing a glance towards Ron’s position. It was their infiltrated auror. With a tight, almost imperceptible movement, he shook his head, signaling that there was nothing new at the moment. Once he finished smoking, he went back in the building.

Ron looked down at his watch and sighed. There wasn’t even a breeze to cool the stifling air that made the palms of his hands sweaty. He adjusted his grip on his binoculars. Suddenly, he saw a black Honda Civic entering the street and slowing down when it neared the precinct. He held up his breath when the car stopped in front of the building. He could discern three people inside the vehicle. _At last_.

“I have a visual, several potential suspects, get ready.”

“Copy that,” three voices answered almost simultaneously. 

The front passenger door opened and a man came out, Ron immediately recognised him.

Paul Briggs. He was tall, with short brown hair and a brown beard, sunglasses on and a relaxed attitude. He was wearing a dark t-shirt and blue jeans, a perfectly casual muggle outfit. He was visibly engaged in a lively conversation with the back passenger, a petite woman with a tan skin and dark long hair held in a tight ponytail. Ron swallowed, feeling his mouth going dry. That was Rosa Lopez, she was energetic, always talking with her hands, and she was probably the most competent witch in the DIVCO. The young man remembered that she had a son, who was one year older than Rose.

Ron knew exactly who was the third member of the team but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. A sudden feeling of uneasiness seized him, turning his heart over, and a bead of cold sweat slid down his back. His teammates were talking to him but he wasn’t listening, he couldn’t listen, the only sound reaching his ears was the beats of his own heart, growing louder and louder.

“Boss, what are the orders ?”

“Do we intercept them or not ?”

“Weasley !!”

These three were known to get into all sort of troubles, but also for being the most efficient and honest team of the DIVCO. They were the dream team, with a success rate in their cases unmatched within the department.

The third member of the team came out of the car, dressed with a white shirt, sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows, and black jeans. He ran his hand through his black messy hair, closing the door and watching his partners quarrel with a slight smile.

The third member of the team entered the police station after Briggs and Lopez and Ron still refused to believe his eyes.

“No… It can’t be. It’s a mistake,” he was frantically whispering, the _thump thump_ of his heart downing every other sound around him, now feeling frozen despite the heat.

His best friend, his brother…

“...Harry.”


	2. Chapter II - Adagio

In shock, Ron couldn’t even remember how he got back to the Ministry. The mission had been a complete failure and the young auror knew he was solely responsible for it ; the moment he saw Harry he had been unable to make a single decision. The team had missed their chance to catch their suspects and they had slipped away with Smithers before Ron could start to think coherently again.

His teammates were just as shocked as he was, especially Alderson, who had embarked on a long monologue explaining that there was a perfectly logical reason for having seen Harry Potter take away their witness.

Crane was absolutely livid and was refusing to say anything, keeping her jaw clenched and her gaze straight ahead. If it had been up to her, she would have stupefied the lot of them on the spot, to hell with the consequences.

“What if it was an illusion ?” Morton tried carefully. “Maybe they were impostors…”

Her words brought Ron out of his stupor. He didn’t listen to the end of her sentence and rushed towards the elevators. He slipped in between the opening doors, jostling those in his path, and furiously pressed the second floor button.

As soon as the doors opened he jumped out of the cabin and ran to the DIVCO, pushing open the door and meeting Patricia in the corridor. She was holding a small metal box in her hands and looked at him quizzically.

“Patricia !” he exclaimed, “Harry and his team, where are they ?”

“In their office, Ronald, why ?”

“Did they go out at all out this afternoon ?” he pressed.

“Not to my knowledge. Harry spent two hours at my desk talking to me about his dog and showing off pictures of it. The poor boy really needs to broaden his social life if you ask me,” she added with an air of pity.

Upon seeing his troubled face, she held up the little box to him, “A biscuit ?”

He absentmindedly took one while muttering a thanks before quickly making his way towards Harry’s office. He barged in without warning and found his friend and Rosa watching a mexican telenovela on a small television hidden in one of the office cupboards. Briggs was in the back of the room, his feet crossed on his desk, obviously in the middle of a late afternoon nap. Harry quickly turned around and looked at him with surprise. “Ron ? What are you… ?” he started.

“Ssshh.” Rosa hit him on the shoulder, staring at the screen, not even bothering to pay attention to Ron.

He apologized and, without answering Harry, promptly left the room. He walked down the hall to the exit, accompanied by the sound of ringing telephones. He didn't know what to do, should the aurors arrest them ? He could feel a migraine coming. He made his way to his office where Alderson, Crane and Morton were, and he was assaulted with questions the moment he walked through the door.

“Ron, can you explain ?”

“What in Merlin’s name is going on ?”

He ran a hand nervously through his hair, realizing that he was still holding the cookie between his fingers. He put it on his desk and sat on a chair. “Harry, Rosa and Paul are in their office. They don't seem to have moved today. At least not according to Patricia.”

“Do you really think that someone could have used polynectar and pretended to be them ?” Cecilia asked.

“Ron, I understand that you refuse to believe that your best friend can be in cahoots with a criminal but we should have arrested them ... the whole plan fell apart …” Crane paused and rubbed her face, she was tired and angry. Sighing in frustration, she got up and left the room.

“If they were impostors, we could have found out if we had arrested them as planned. The effect of the polynectar, or whatever method they used, would have ended during their detention,” Morton added in a calm voice. Of all the team members, she was the most poised, even in a crisis. Her softness often had a soothing effect on her teammates. “How are you sure it was the real Potter, Lopez and Briggs who stayed here ?” she continued.

“Patricia told me that Harry stayed with her for two hours …”

"It doesn't prove anything, Boss, a modified potion could have longer effects over time," Alderson said. “Or something still could have escaped Patricia's vigilance, she herself may have left the division for a moment …”

Ron felt lost, his headache keeping him from thinking. He just wanted to go home, forget about this fiasco and stop thinking about anything, kiss Hermione and hug Rosie. Elbows on the knees, he took his head between his hands, running his fingers through his hair before crossing them behind his skull. 

Crane returned suddenly. “They left,” she said abruptly.

“Who ?” Ron asked, looking up at her.

“Potter and his friends, they are no longer in the Ministry. No more traces of them.”

“They finished their day, they probably went home…”

“Or they are hiding something,” she said suspiciously. “They felt they were exposed and fled… ”

“It's Harry Potter still ! We can't hastily draw a conclusion,” Alderson interjected.

“We can watch them closely,” Cecilia proposed.

They all agreed on the next step. “We must inform Robards.”

Robards had his back turned to them, arms crossed over his chest, looking out of his enchanted office window which offered a view of snow-capped mountains. “Are you really sure about what you saw ?” he asked, his voice betrayed no emotion.

"Without any doubt," Crane confirmed harshly.

“But there must be a logical explanation …”

“What you just told me must remain strictly confidential, nothing comes out of this office. I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if there was a leak.” He paused. Suddenly he turned around and hit his desk with the palm of his hand. “Harry Potter, dammit! The Hero of the Wizarding World. With Briggs and Lopez, they are the best team in the DIVCO, even Director Hammond personally congratulated them for their work a month ago !”

Ron had rarely seen him lose his temper like this. Robards pursued, “I want increased surveillance, without attracting their attention. Discreetly question their colleagues. Right now we’re not taking action, we need more evidence. You will report to me daily. We're going to clear this up.”

When he got home that evening, Ron decided not to worry Hermione with the events that took place in the day. He apparated in the pathway going up towards the house, taking advantage of the mildness of the early evening to walk around a bit and clear up his mind.

They lived in an old stone farmhouse in the Wiltshire countryside, not far from Castle Combe, a charming village highly prized by muggles. Many wizards had also settled there and Ron and Hermione had managed to forge links in the small community, appreciating the simplicity of relations with its members as much as the surrounding calm of the area.

He opened the front door, took off his shoes after entering and hung his bag on the coat hook. In the living room, Hermione was seated on the floor, and, with a book in one hand, a small plush in the other, she was animatedly telling the adventures of a fearless wizard. In front of her, Rose was sitting on a cushion, eagerly listening to the story her mother was telling her.

The mere sight made Ron forget his disastrous day for a moment. He leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms, watching the scene. Rose was growing up a little more every day, too fast sometimes for the taste of her parents, as turbulent as her father at the same age and having inherited the insatiable curiosity of her mother. Hermione noticed Ron, a smile appearing on her lips, and Rose followed her gaze.

“DADDY !” she exclaimed, standing up and running, arms outstretched towards him.

He caught her in his arms and hugged her. She immediately began to tell him about her day, with her little voice and her childlike words while he listened to her attentively.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. After taking a shower, Ron went to bed. Hermione was already there and he laid down next to her and hugged her.

“Ron, is everything all right ? You've barely said a word since you got home,” she asked worriedly.

“Mnh. It’s been a difficult day at work, an unexpected case ... I just want to enjoy this moment with you.”

Eyes closed, he pressed his head to her neck. She turned around and hugged him tenderly. She knew him well enough to know that if he didn't want to speak there was no point asking him more questions. Lulled by her calm breathing and the nocturnal song of crickets filtering through the half-open window, he eventually fell asleep in a dreamless sleep.

The following days, a routine was established in the Office. Ron and his team perfected their tailing technique and took turns monitoring the movements of Harry, Rosa and Paul, trying to stay unnoticed. It was one thing to follow an average citizen, it was another thing to track down experienced aurors. After a week none of them had observed any abnormal behaviour.

Rosa left her little house in the London suburbs every morning at the same time, saying goodbye to her husband on the doorstep. He left later, accompanied by their son, whom he dropped off at the daycare before going to Diagon Alley, in the offices of the Daily Prophet where he worked as a journalist.

Paul Briggs lived in an apartment in the city center of Edinburgh, he went to the Ministry by floo powder. Almost every night he joined a group of friends at the pub, all of them Highlanders. They stayed there for several hours before happily parting in the night to return home.

Harry had chosen to move to Grimmauld Place after the war. With the help of a lot of magic, and to Kreacher's great despair, he had managed to renovate the old house and make it more pleasant to live in. Every day he got up before sunrise and went out for a run, a habit Ron had a hard time understanding. He would take out Keats, his white swiss shepherd, for about twenty minutes in the morning before going to work, and for one to two hours in the evening.

“Besides that, he doesn't seem to do much else and doesn't hang out with anyone. As of 9:00 p.m., as usual, all the lights in the house are off,” Crane concluded, reporting to him.

“I sometimes wonder if he's not actually eighty years old,” Ron said. “I just met him in the atrium, I invited him to dinner at my house this week. I’ll be able to observe him from closer.”

"I sincerely hope we are wrong," Alderson said, sitting behind his desk. “That they have nothing to do with this case, that they are simply victims of identity theft.”

Ron couldn't help but agree with his words.

Searches had also been initiated to locate Smithers, but he had vanished without leaving a trace. The young auror had little doubt about the fate that had been reserved for him. Vasilyev was not really known for being merciful. Their undercover officer at the police station was unable to remember what had happened there, and his memories had likely been erased. Much to their frustration, the aurors didn’t have the shadow of a clue, and the office atmosphere was downright morose.

Exactly two weeks after the botched mission, Harry showed up at Ron and Hermione's house, accompanied by Keats. It was a beautiful june evening, it felt like summer was already there. He walked around the house and entered a courtyard, the large flat stones on the ground separated by wild herbs giving it a disorderly and mysterious yet welcoming appearance.

The Weasleys had set the table outside, the large glass door leading to the back was open, and the young man could hear music coming from inside the building. Ron was coming out of the house when Keats rushed over to him, greeting him happily. He crouched down to pet him and heard Harry laugh. He looked up at the latter.

“Hey mate !” He hoped that his nonchalant air was convincing. 

Harry looked completely relaxed. He was holding a plate in his hands. “Hey ! I brought the dessert, treacle tart.”

Ron led him in the house. Hermione appeared and her face lit up when she saw Harry. She embraced him enthusiastically. “Harry ! It's so nice to see you !”

“You too Mione !” He released her and turned to put his dish on the kitchen counter while questioning her. “How are you ? How's Rosie doing ?”

“I’m very well ! Rose too, she is playing in the playroom. I finally have a little more free time since we finally finished with this damn werewolf law …” She kept talking to him about work until Rose, drawn to the noise, entered the living room. 

Harry immediately lowered himself to greet her. “Rosie ! How are you ? It’s been a long time since you and I have seen each other, do you remember me ?”

She hid shyly behind her mother's legs, before giving him a big smile. Harry had always enjoyed children. Whenever he could, he visited his godson, Teddy Lupin, who lived with his grandmother, Andromeda. They were very close to each other, and it was no secret that Harry had sworn to be always there for the little boy so as not to repeat his own childhood.

“Look at that ! How tall you are now ! Soon you'll be as tall as your daddy !”

She laughed before she caught sight of Keats and pointed at it. “The dog !” she exclaimed, trying to chase it into the living room in front of the amused adults.

They spent the evening making up for lost time, alternating conversations about quidditch, family, everyone's work, politics ...

“I'm not saying that the wizarding society is completely rotten,” Harry said, holding out his fork, “I just maintain that most politicians are shady and that nothing will change as long as they are in power.”

“And how would you do it, changing the Wizarding World ?” Hermione asked.

“I don't know …,” he hesitated before pausing for a few seconds. “And then why would it be up to me to do it ? I’m ready to take the first step, but you have to admit that it’s those who just watch without acting that allow these dishonest people to gain power,” he said, his eyes full of certainty.

Ron was trying to join the conversation, but he couldn't help but watch Harry, spying on every single gesture in case something escaped him. He was uncomfortable and felt guilty for suspecting his friend. The discussion suddenly branched out into Harry's social life.

“I have a colleague in the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures who is young and single, I'm sure you would get on well ! She's a quidditch fan !” Hermione was back to playing matchmaker again.

“Mione, it’s not necessary…,” the interested party sighed.

“You can't stay alone and isolated forever Harry !”

“I'm not alone ! I have Keats !” He pointed to the dog that was asleep at his feet. Hermione looked at him reproachfully.

“I have Kreacher !”

“It doesn't count and you know it !”

At nightfall, the three of them began to clear the table. Suddenly a telephone rang. Harry was the only one with a cell phone, " _ for work _ ," he had explained. He apologized and walked out into the garden to pick up the phone. Ron could hear snippets of conversation.

“... How much ? ... I don't know ... Maybe tomorrow …”

Nothing incriminating. Harry was pacing in the garden while talking, the expression on his face was unreadable in the dark.

“Where ? ... No ... You put them away ... Cupboard under the sink …”

Hermione called Ron into the house. When he came out, Harry had hung up.

“Work ?”

“Mmh, we can say that,” Harry answered vaguely.

Half an hour later, he announced he was going home and wished them a good night before apparating with Keats.

Ron hadn't noticed anything special in his behaviour during the evening, he was his usual self. Unlike Hermione, who had sensed that something was worrying her companion and she pointed it out to him. He evaded her questions as best he could, not wanting to involve her in his investigation as long as there was nothing concrete.

The month of June was drawing to a close, when suddenly everything accelerated. Crane had been informed that one of their sources wanted to meet them. The wife of a bookmaker who specialized in betting on abraxan races occasionally passed on to them what she learned through her husband's activity. In exchange, the Ministry turned a blind eye to the couple's business.

Ron arranged to meet her in a little muggle restaurant, a few blocks from the Ministry. He walked there despite the heat, accompanied by Alderson. Dark clouds had gathered over the city by the time they arrived in front of the agreed place. Inside, the young woman was waiting for them, seated at a table with a menu in her hands. Her leopard pattern witch dress and bleached hair attracted the curious glances of the few customers present. On the radio, pop music tracks were playing one after the other.

Ron and Alderson sat opposite to her, exchanging a few courtesies. After ordering a coffee for Ron, a milkshake for Alderson, a full breakfast for her despite the late hours, they asked her why she had wanted to meet them.

While noisily chewing on bubble gum, she told them about a conversation she had heard the day before. Her story dragged on and Ron felt his attention drop after ten minutes.

“... And then that other twat came with his chick, and Dimitri started to want to play the tough guy but my Julio, he wouldn’t let them have it easy. I swear, all these russkoffs they better watch out, they’re no match for the family …”

She only stopped talking once when the waitress placed their orders on the table. She grabbed her plate of pancakes, stuck her chewing gum underneath, and plentifully sprinkled her food with maple syrup.

From what Ron had understood so far, a deal was to take place shortly, was it tomorrow night ? She did not know what type of traffick it was, but she had clearly heard the name of Vasilyev. The bookmaker had acted as a go-between for the sellers and contacts for the buyer, an Irish businessman. The men who would be responsible for their security on behalf of Vasilyev had also been present.

He was about to ask for more information when the waitress returned with the check. He pulled out his wallet to pay and a photo slipped and fell to the floor. Their witness leaned over and picked it up. Her eyes widened.

“Wah, but you’re mate with that twat ?!”

Ron didn't immediately understand. He looked at the photo, it had been taken on the day he finished his auror training. On the picture, he and Harry were celebrating the start of a new life. The silence was broken by the sound of wet suction, Alderson was finishing his milkshake, looking at them with a confused look.

“That twat ... The one who was at the bookie last night ? Who should secure a deal on behalf of Vasilyev ? Is it him ?” he quickly said, pointing to Harry on the photo.

“He’s older but yeah, baby, I can swear it’s him,” she replied, one elbow laid over the back of her chair. “Rather handsome guy for a loser, I must say.”

Ron felt his heart racing. He was sweating, he felt like the walls of the restaurant were closing in on him. “The deal ...,” he began. “Where ? When ? Tell me everything you know.” He feverishly took a notebook out of his pocket to take notes.

She gave him all the details she could remember, in exchange he left her a few galleons.

“Baby, you spoil me too much !” she gleefully said to him, as he was heading out of the restaurant with Alderson.

Once outside, he stood still, absorbing the information he had just received. He kept repeating in his head the words “ _ deal, Harry, Vasilyev _ ”. In the distance, the first rumbles of thunder could be heard ; the heavy weather had finally turned into a storm.


	3. Chapter III - Nocturne

In a hurry, Ron and his young teammate crossed the hall towards Robards' office. They were joined by Crane and Morton on the way who bombarded them with questions they did not answer.

Robards let them in and they sat down in the armchairs in front of his desk. Ron exchanged a quick glance with Alderson and began to relate the conversation they just had with the young woman. When he finished speaking, there was a heavy silence in the room. 

Robards was the first to break it, “Your source, can we trust her ?” he asked.

“She has never disappointed us in the past, her informations have always been reliable.”

“And she said it’d be tomorrow evening, right ?”

Ron nodded. His superior spoke again. “We are talking about Vasilyev’s men, and obviously rather high placed in his organization. If we manage to capture them alive, this could offer us the opportunity to bring it down once and for all.”

“We'll need a foolproof action plan. This time it’s out of the question to let them escape,” Crane commented, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Let's sum up,” Robards said, turning to Morton. “Cecilia ?”

The young woman turned the pages of her notebook, on which she had written all the details reported by Ron and Alderson. She cleared her throat. “A deal will take place tomorrow evening at the port of Tilbury, in the “punch” sector of the container park, hangar number five at 11 pm. We don’t know the nature of the goods exchanged.”

She went to the next page and continued. “The seller is Dimitri Loujin, a Georgian wizard, one of Vasilyev's lieutenants, we already have a whole file on him. We know that …” she hesitated, “Harry Potter, and possibly Briggs and Lopez, will be part of the security detail.”

“How many men will be there ?”

“We don't know. Possibly ten. Most of Loujin's men are wizards, there are only a few muggles. They are all extremely dangerous.”

“It will take at least three auror teams, including one from the DIVCO,” Robards said. He then looked at Ron. “I leave it to you to select them, choose those in whom you have absolute confidence, we cannot risk alerting a mole.”

Alderson intervened, his fingers nervously playing with the button on the sleeve of his shirt, “Do we need to tell them who we are going to arrest ?”

They looked at each other in turn.

“We will take care of Harry ourselves, their mission will be to apprehend the others criminals.”

With the help of his teammates, Ron chose the teams that would participate in the raid. From the Auror Office, he selected Williamson’s, a seasoned officer whom he knew to be reliable, as were his men. Choosing the wizard-muggle collaboration team took longer. They finally decided on Terrence Proudfoot’s squad. They would be twelve in total, three teams of four each. They then gathered everyone in the conference room to brief them on the mission order. 

Robards ended his speech with a reminder, “No matter what you see tomorrow night, focus on your goal, it is of the utmost importance.”

They got to work and the planning of their strategy stretched until late at night.

When Ron came home, he didn't go to bed. He doubted that he could be able to sleep despite his tiredness. He sat down on the sofa in the semi-darkness of the living room. Hermione, who had woken up on hearing him come in, slowly approached the young man and, without a word, sat down next to him before resting her head on his shoulder. 

He spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “Tomorrow night… Tomorrow night we are going to take part in a capital mission, but I’m afraid Mione.”

He paused, letting out an emotional sigh. “I'm afraid of what we will see there, of what we will do there. I'm afraid that after this case, nothing will ever be the same again, I have a bad feeling about this whole thing …”

He lowered his head and the young woman hugged him, slowly running her hand through his hair. The next morning, before leaving for the Ministry, he hugged her for a long time in the kitchen.

Parting from her, he told her, “Don't wait for me tonight.”

The day passed incredibly slowly and, paradoxically, Ron felt like he was running out of time. Their squadron had requisitioned the conference room and finished refining their plan in total secrecy. During the morning, he asked about Harry's activities. The DIVCO members had left for a field mission and were not expected to return until later in the afternoon. It was better that way, he didn't want to have to meet them at the corner of a corridor.

Apprehension tied a knot in his stomach. He could feel similar tension in his partners. This time, the pre-mission adrenaline rush didn't give him the same pleasure as usual.

Soon it was six o'clock. Little by little, the offices emptied, workers and visitors returned to their homes and silence fell in the deserted corridors of the Ministry. Only Robards and the aurors participating in the raid remained.

At nine o'clock, they got ready in silence. They helped each other to adjust the dragon skin protections over their dark uniforms. They then applied their stealth and disillusionment spells and tested their contact spells so that they could communicate when needed. When they were all ready, their silent steps led them to the atrium.

Together, they apparated, reappearing in the port of Tilbury. Piles of blue, red and green containers stretched as far as the eye could see. They could see huge boats moored a little further on the Thames, the scent of which reached them in the night air. Above their heads, the cries of gulls pierced the cloudy sky. Stealthily, and perfectly synchronized, they surrounded the huge hangar, which they had already located and studied in advance.

The wait started. The rain began to fall, a downpour as sudden as it was intense. The aurors did not have time to cast their waterproofing spells ; just as quickly as it had occurred, the deluge stopped. The smell of wet bitumen filled the air, the _plic ploc_ of water drops adding to the sounds of the port and the distant noises of the nearby city.

Suddenly, the distinctive sound of an apparating wizard resounded in the night, followed by several others successively. An auror signaled movement, a first vehicle advanced and entered the hangar, just before a second, arriving from the opposite direction.

All the players were in position.

The aurors discreetly raised an anti-apparition barrier, then they approached the hangar. Three guards were positioned outside, they were stupefied in silence and their bodies were caught up before they could hit the ground. Part of the squadron entered the building, taking care to hide behind the large containers stored there.

From his position, Ron had a clear visual on the scene taking place. A tall, bald and bearded man, _Loujin_ , stood in front of two huge chests. Inside the first one, the auror could distinguish muggle guns. In the second, there were small red vials.

Ron knew exactly what it was. " _Molotov vials_ ", when thrown, upon breaking, they caused an explosion of varying intensity depending on the concentration of potion. It was one of the favorite weapons of terrorists wizards groups. Two stern looking men and a woman stood by his side.

Facing Loujine, inspecting a machine-gun which he held in his hands, was an elderly man, with glasses and graying hair. Behind him were four guards, a fifth man was leaning against the black SUV parked in the back of the hangar. All of them appeared to be heavily armed.

A little farther away, located at different corners of the room, Ron spotted Harry, Rosa and Paul. His pulse quickened. All three were dressed in the same way ; cargo pants, t-shirt and ankle boots, all of it black. They were watching the scene impassively, standing on alert, their eyes carefully scanning their surroundings.

Ron closed his eyes, inhaled, then exhaled lengthily. He suppressed his emotions and focused. The aurors stood by, those who had recognized their colleagues from the DIVCO cast questioning glances at Ron who nodded to them, meaning to tell " _stay attentive_ ".

Before he could even give the signal for the assault, he saw Rosa wave almost imperceptibly at Harry. Ron only had time to realize what was going on that the atmosphere in the room suddenly changed.

“The police !” one of the Irish guards shouted.

Absolute chaos ensued.

The muggle guards pulled out their guns and began shooting indiscriminately from all sides. Many jets of light began to fly, illuminating the room with colors. The aurors immediately retaliated, bursting into the hangar, casting spells after spells while trying to protect themselves from stray bullets.

One of Loujin’s wizards launched an attack towards Ron, the streak of red light flying in his direction.

Rushing to his side, Crane shouted “ _protego_ !”, raising a shield around them and effectively blocking the curse.

Loujin was already in his Land Rover, one of his guards behind the wheel. The vehicle spun in the middle of the battle, almost managing to overthrow several aurors. Spells cast in an attempt to stop him ricocheted off the vehicle body. The Irishman, meanwhile, was on the ground, along with two of his men, all of them motionless.

Shouts were coming from all directions. A spell cast by one of the criminals blew up one of the tall containers, and flaming debris landed in the middle of the battlefield. The smell of burning invaded the air, mixed with the scent of blood already present, until it almost completely masked it.

After jumping over an overturned crate to rescue a teammate, Ron turned his head just in time to see Rosa Lopez throw a curse towards Alderson who was busy protecting himself from the shards of metal falling around him.

“DESMOND !” he yelled.

Too late. The spell hit him in the chest and propelled him against a wall. He fell back and remained on the ground, inert.

There were four guards left, Loujin’s men, all wizards, as well as Harry, Rosa and Paul. All of them were fighting fiercely against the aurors, casting spells after spells, running, jumping, dodging, inexhaustible.

As Ron stunned one of his opponents, a curse coming from behind him brushed past his ear. As he turned to fight back, he heard a voice shout.

“Take cover !!”

A molotov vial crashed and broke a few meters away from him. The deafening explosion threw him violently on the ground, his head hitting the concrete.

The auror opened his eyes with difficulty. A stabbing pain pierced his skull. Around him, the battle continued but the sounds that reached him seemed muted, as if his head was underwater. He had the impression that time was passing in slow motion. Something wet was running down his neck. Slowly he turned around and put a hand on the floor. He managed to get on his knees, fighting the feeling of vertigo that arose from the movement. The ringing in his ears gradually faded and he looked up.

A little further ahead of him, Harry was fighting against an auror. He moved with ease and fluidity ; watching him fight was an experience in itself. Facing him, the young woman struggled to protect herself from his powerful assaults. A curse finally sent her to the ground and, before she could get up, Harry kicked her, throwing her head violently to the side.

The scene paralyzed him ; he had seen Harry fight countless times, but never so viciously. _Never against his own teammates_. His friend turned around. His black hair was plastered on his forehead with sweat and blood was smeared on his face. He was completely emotionless, his jaw clenched, his cold eyes already directed at his next target.

With a sudden movement, Ron stood up, ignoring the pain that his actions caused him. Harry caught sight of him and their eyes met. A flash of surprise crossed his features before disappearing. Time stopped. For a moment, there was only them, gasping for breath, fingers clenched on their wands, each holding the other's gaze.

“Harry !” Briggs' voice resonated, breaking the moment. In his hand, he was holding a spoon. _A portkey_ , Ron realized.

“No !” an auror shouted.

Rosa ran to her teammate’s side a moment later and put her hand on the spoon, both of them were staring at Harry, an alarmed expression drawn on their faces.

Ron looked at his best friend again, he saw him raise his wand in his direction and mark a second of hesitation, the conflict clear in his eyes. Just a second, but it was enough for Crane to pop up on his side and tackle him hard on the ground with a fierce cry. At the same time, the portkey activated and Paul and Rosa disappeared.

With the help of an auror, Crane held Harry to the ground and handcuffed him, he wasn’t resisting, then unceremoniously lifted him up. A continuous stream of blood flowed from a cut in his brow. During the confrontation, he had lost his glasses and his expressionless green eyes resolutely avoided landing on Ron.

Around them, the battle was ending. Most of the criminals were lying on the ground, only Loujin and two of his men had managed to escape, not to mention Briggs and Lopez. The rest had either been successfully apprehended or killed in action.

Ron looked around the hangar. Burning debris littered the ground, the remaining vehicle laid on its side and a section of the building's wall was destroyed. He spotted Morton, crouching beside a body, and his heart missed a beat. _Desmond_. He ran to them and Morton looked up at him as he came in, fair hair streaking out of her long braid.

“He was simply stunned. He probably hit his head when he fell, he'll get a bad headache when he wakes up,” she reassured him.

With a movement of her wand, she cast a _rennervate_ at the unconscious young man. Moments later, Alderson stirred and an expression of pain appeared on his face. His right hand rose automatically and touched the back of his head.

“Ow,” he moaned, slowly opening his eyes. He looked at them, disoriented. “Is it over ? What did I miss ?”

Morton and Ron helped him sit up, holding his arms. They took the opportunity to check that he was not more seriously injured. When they were satisfied that he was doing quite well, they let him be accompanied out by another auror. Gradually, the hangar emptied. Escorted by Crane and Proudfoot, Harry walked past them and Ron watched them until they left his line of sight.

A feeling of deep emptiness overwhelmed him. He covered his eyes with one hand and raised his head to the sky, letting a sob escape his lips. Morton gently squeezed his shoulder and he put his hand over hers. They stayed that way for a few minutes, then Ron pulled himself together. Without a word, they went out in the dark night and apparated.


	4. Chapter IV - Rubato

Emerging in the apparition area, Ron and Morton found their squad as well as the prisoners, at least those who had not been taken to St Mungo, waiting in the room. Under the golden lights, the aurors’ tired expressions were clearly visible. Some of them were wounded, and the poor state of their clothing was tangible evidence of the violence of the confrontation that had taken place a few moments earlier.

Ron wondered why they were all still standing there and not on their way to the holding cells. He shared his musings with Morton ; before she could answer, Williamson came to them with a concerned look. “We have a problem,” he whispered. “I don't know how, but the press has been warned. The atrium is packed with journalists.”

“Shit.” Ron ran his hand through his hair in an annoyed gesture. This night was already far too long for his taste, and now they had to deal with these vultures of reporters. He motioned for the aurors to come closer. “Okay. We have no choice, we’ll have to go through them. We escort all these nice people there to their cells. We don't answer any questions, we don't stop, we don't look at the crowd. Understood ?”

They all replied in the affirmative.

The group started to move and passed the large doors leading to the atrium. They were instantly assaulted by the crackling of camera flashes and the hubbub caused by dozens of journalists shouting their questions at the same time. There were also a few curious people, some still in pajamas, who came specifically to observe what had been announced as an event.

The Aurors made their way through the crowd, struggling to cover the prisoners, especially Harry. Unfortunately, he did not go unnoticed.

“Hey, it's Harry Potter !”

“Is he under arrest ?!”

“Can you tell us what's going on ?”

“Look ! His hands are tied !”

“Mister Potter! Look over here !”

Yells and questions were coming from all sides, everyone trying to get closer to see Potter. The young man was looking straight ahead, ignoring everything going on around him, content to let Ron guide him to the end of the hall. They finally got there, reaching the lobby where the elevators were waiting for them. Inside the cabin, once the doors closed, the silence contrasting with the tumult of the atrium seemed deafening. The red haired auror glanced furtively at his friend, who seemed unruffled.

When they arrived at the Department of Justice, the group separated. The prisoners were taken to detention cells and Ron led Harry to the interrogation room. He left it to Williamson to settle him there. Ron turned and headed for the bathroom. He had to rush his last steps and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet bowl to vomit. His hands gripped the earthenware so hard that his joints turned white. He heaved a couple of times before resting his head on his arm. He spat and flushed the toilet with his free hand.

He got up and headed for the sinks. The mirrors sent his reflection back to him. His red hair was dirty and messy. He had blood on his face, obviously from a cut on his scalp, as well as traces of dirt. Under his eyes, dark circles made him look exhausted. He rinsed his mouth and ran water over his face several times. He grabbed the edges of the sink and looked at himself one last time in the mirror. He displayed a resolute air on his face.

He returned to the interrogation room and passed the auror on guard ; she was leaning against the wall, supporting herself with her hands on her thighs. She straightened awkwardly when she heard Ron coming.

“Has he said anything ?” he asked, nodding to the room.

“Nothing at all, Mr. Weasley.”

Taking a deep breath, he entered the room and closed the door behind him. Inside there were a table and two chairs, facing each other. One of the walls was made up of a large one-way mirror behind which, no doubt, his colleagues were watching the scene. Like the rest of the Auror Office, the ocher color was predominant. Elegant moldings adorned the ceiling, although prisoners were rarely touched by these details. A half full glass of water was placed on the table.

Harry was sitting in one of the chairs, facing the mirror. His hands, now handcuffed in front of him, were on the table, one covering the other, his thumbs upwards. He showed no reaction to Ron's arrival, keeping his eyes down. Dried blood covered part of his face and his hair was still pressed against his forehead, completely covering up his scar. Ron walked over to the table. He stood behind the empty chair and leaned on its back, arms outstretched. He scrutinized his friend. _Enemy_? He no longer knew.

“Why, Harry ?” he abruptly said.

No answer. Ron sighed. After glancing behind him at the mirror, he pulled out his chair and sat down. He crossed his trembling hands on the table in a gesture similar to a prayer and resumed in a whisper. “I have never begged any other human being in my life. I’m going to beg you now, heart and soul. Harry please …”

Harry cut him off. “What do you want, Ron ?” Eyes still lowered, his deep voice resounded curtly in the room. 

There was a moment of silence, then Ron answered. “Tell us where the others are, Harry ... You shouldn't be here ... We want Vasilyev, you could talk to his men, they’d listen to you …”

Harry closed his eyes then opened them again, fixing his gaze right on Ron. Devoid of all emotion, it was chilling. He no longer looked like the man the auror thought he knew so well. There was another moment of silence. Ron held his breath when the prisoner leaned a little more above the table, inching closer to him.

“You, listen to me, Ron. I killed Wilbur Smithers with my own hands.” He paused briefly before continuing. “... I did it,” his tone betrayed no regrets. “You know why. He was a traitor. You want me to betray Vasilyev ?” Slowly detaching each word, holding the desperate look of his interlocutor, he added. “I’m. Not. Going. To sell. Out.”

It was too hard for him and Ron stood up abruptly, followed by Harry's eyes. He turned his back to him. He could feel his anger rising, following his earlier desperation. “How can you even work for this monster ?!”

Harry chuckled. In the mirror reflection, Ron could see that he was smiling. It was a terrifying, joyless smile, an expression he had never seen before on his face.

“ _How can you even work for this monster ?!_ ” he imitated sarcastically, before his smile suddenly faded. “You better look around yourself before you speak.”

“What are you talking about ?” Ron asked, not understanding what was his point. “Have you thought about the consequences of your actions ? About your family ? About Teddy ?!”

The dark look the young man threw him signified to Ron that he had hit a nerve, however he persisted in remaining silent, resuming staring at his hands. This conversation was leading to nothing. Exhausted, the auror was losing what little patience he had left. It was time to get out of the room, maybe his colleagues would have a better chance of making him speak.

Leaving Potter -he couldn't bring himself to call him Harry when he seemed so different from his best friend- marinating in his room, Ron went back to his office. Crane and Morton were there, both exhausted, sitting side by side in the small sofa at the back of the room. They were still dressed in uniform. On a table next to them, they had prepared cups of hot coffee. Morton handed him one when he approached.

“Here. How are you feeling ? Have you seen anyone for your injuries ?” she asked him in a worried tone.

“No, it's not necessary.” He took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes, before continuing. “It's superficial, I feel fine. Do you have any news from Desmond ?”

“He’ll spend the rest of the night at St Mungo, his fall has caused him some bruising,” Crane informed him. “Nothing too serious,” she hastened to add. “He will be up and about in no time, he’s a tough one.”

He nodded, pleased to hear the news. “And what about you, how are you ? Weren't you hurt ?”

"Don't worry ‘bout us, Weasley, we're much stronger than we seem to be," Crane said, brushing his worries away with a dismissive gesture of her hand.

“Did you talk to him ?” Morton asked him shyly.

 _Him_. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine. “We can say that ... I don't understand, it really doesn't make any sense. He's so different ... He ... He was at my house just a week ago, he was acting normal. Now he behaves like a real sociopath ?! Why ? I'm completely lost !!” he finished his sentence in a shout.

All his frustration surfaced, he needed to express it and screaming seemed good enough. If he could have, he would have gladly smashed some objects. This hideous vase, for example, sitting on the shelf behind his desk. 

Right at that moment, an auror poked his head through the doorway. “Robards wants to talk to us !” he then disappeared down the hall.

The three team members looked at each other and then followed suit.

In the conference room, almost all of the survivors of the squad were gathered. Robards stood in front of them. He also seemed tired, but satisfied.

“I wanted to commend the admirable work you have done this evening. Thanks to you, we have succeeded in apprehending some of Vasilyev's men, it is more than the result of several months of investigations. Director Hammond, whom I informed earlier, is particularly proud of you.” He paused briefly. “I know you are all shocked by the arrest of one of our own. This surprising turnaround should not take us away from our goal, which is bringing down Bogdan Vasilyev once and for all. Together, we will do our best to understand how he may have been involved with this criminal organization. It goes without saying that everything that happens here must be kept strictly confidential. Anyone who discloses elements of the investigation to outsiders will be severely punished. I will personally give a press conference in the morning, the journalists are already here anyway.”

There was some laughter coming from the crowd and he concluded his speech. “You’ve deserved a good rest, take care of yourselves, and again congratulations on your accomplishment.”

His words were greeted with tired applause. Conversations resumed gently, some aurors left the room, ready to go home. Ron was about to go talk to his boss when an alarm went off. Everyone froze. _An intruder_ . Williamson was the first to react and sprang out of the conference room. Ron also started running towards the interrogation room. _Had he managed to escape_ ? _Did he have an accomplice_ ?

The door was ajar, the auror pushed it open. At first glance, he thought that the room was empty. Then he saw Harry, lying on the ground on his back, one leg bent, a trickle of blood escaping from the corner of his lips. His back was arched, the veins in his neck were standing out, and he appeared to be in incredible pain. Ron rushed forward, falling to his knees beside him, and grabbed his face between his hands.

“Harry ! Harry ! Look at me !” he yelled, evident panic in his voice.

Harry's eyes met his and he could read in them his confusion and his pain. He saw his throat contract several times ; he was trying to tell him something but he couldn't. Suddenly his eyes rolled back and his tense body relaxed. He was motionless. It took Ron a second before realizing that his friend had stopped breathing.

During their auror training, they had received emergency procedures courses. Ron acted by reflex. He immediately put his hands, fingers crisscrossed, on the middle of Harry's chest, arms outstretched, and began to compress rhythmically while counting in his head. _1_ , _2_ , _3_ , _4_ … He was no longer thinking, only staring at the movement of his hands, _push_ , _release_ , _push_ , _release_.

“Mediwizards ! Go get the mediwizards !” someone was shouting in the hallway.

Ron inadvertently glanced at Harry's face. Each compression was making his head move sideways. On his cheeks, the dark red color of blood was bringing out his pale, almost gray complexion. _Who said dead people often seem to be just asleep_ ? It was bullshit. His half-closed eyelids let the white of his eyes show and his mouth was open ; he absolutely didn’t look asleep. ... _28_ , _29_ , _30_ . Ron stopped his compressions, tilted Harry's head back, took a deep breath and while pinching his nose, breathed into his mouth. He straightened up and started again a second time. He resumed the compressions. He felt something crack under his hands. The voice of his instructor echoed in his head, “ _You keep going ! You keep going ! You keep going ! You never stop the compressions !_ ”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, three medics appeared. Ron pulled away and, sitting against the wall, watched them work. In an instant, they had resumed cardiac massage. One of them cast a quick diagnostic spell and then an oxygenation spell. A translucent bubble appeared around their patient's head, forcing oxygen into his lungs. With a wand movement, the second healer brought up the vitals above the body.

“Oxygenation is one hundred percent. Blood pressure is sixty over thirty, dropping fast.” Her attention turned to the luminescent line which usually indicated the beating of the heart. “No pulse, he’s in ventricular fibrillation !”

It was gibberish to Ron who could only watch helplessly as they prepared to cast a resuscitation spell. The first medic pointed his wand at Harry's chest and exclaimed, “Clear !”.

They moved away slightly so that they no longer touched him. In a blue flash, the spell hit Harry. He gave a slight spasm, the EKG line flattened for a second then resumed a sinusoidal shape. “Still in fibrillation !”

With confident gestures, they cast spells that Ron had never heard of. They repeated the operation a second time. After the magic shock, the heart line stopped again before resuming a normal form.

“Sinus rhythm, tachycardia !” said the woman with a relieved tone. “Blood pressure is rising, eighty over sixty.”

They cast a stasis spell to keep the patient in stable condition and levitated him on a stretcher before preparing to leave the room and evacuate him to St Mungo.

One of the healers stayed behind and turned to Ron. He crouched down in front of him and started asking him questions. The auror could see his lips moving but he couldn't hear any words, for they were covered by a buzzing sound that rose crescendo in intensity in his ears. The healer frowned and, with a concerned look, turned to say something to an auror behind him, then turned his attention back to him. Suddenly Ron felt a strange sensation, like a fresh liquid that spread all over his body, from his head to the tips of his toes, and then, nothing. His vision darkened and he collapsed.


	5. Chapter V - Lento

Light filtered through his eyelids. He blinked slowly once, then twice, his blurred vision gradually adjusting to the brightness. The first thing he saw was the white ceiling above him, painted with rays of the late afternoon sun. He was lying in a comfortable bed and a feeling of warmth surrounded his right arm. Turning his head he saw that Hermione, seated near the bed, had her head resting on it. Feeling him shift, she suddenly straightened up. Her eyes were red and puffy and she looked exhausted.

“Ron ?”

He immediately held her in his arms. In a hoarse voice, he asked. “Rose ?”

“She’s with your parents.”

“What happened ?”

“You had a panic attack. They ... The healers told me that they had to sedate you ... That you …”

He didn't remember anything. His last memory was … “Harry ??” he interrupted her before she could continue.

She answered without looking at him, fidgeting with the blanket between her fingers. “He’s here too, in the spell damage department. He's in a coma but it’s all I know, nobody wanted to tell me anything.” She paused and looked up at him. “Is it true what they say ? Harry ... Your mission last night …”

He looked at her. Ron could see her pain and confusion, echoing what he was feeling himself. He exhaled. She had the right to know, after all, Harry was like her own brother too. He took his wand from the bedside table and cast a  _ Muffliato _ . With a monotonous voice, he told her everything from the start of the investigation to the interrogation and its conclusion. When he stopped talking, his mouth was dry.

“I don’t understand. He must have had a good reason for being there. There has to be an explanation.” Her Cartesian mind was taking over. He could see the determination in her body language. “I'm sure it's more complicated than it looks,” she said confidently.

Ron sighed. “Yeah, well the only one who could give us answers is him and he’s not really available at the moment.”

He couldn't help but be angry with Harry. He felt betrayed. If he had indeed a logical reason to side with Vasilyev, why had he not seen fit to speak to Ron about it ? Had their friendship deteriorated so much over the years ? His train of thoughts was stopped by the clacking of shoes on the tiles, announcing the arrival of a visitor.

Claudius Sternwood was a medium-sized man, with short blonde hair slicked back, a tailored three-piece gray robe. He was in his forties but looked younger. His clear eyes seemed constantly filled with disdain. The thing that ticked Ron off the most was the little blond mustache he was sporting ; it made him think of a little hairy caterpillar resting on his upper lip and he had only one desire, to tear it off as soon as he was seeing it. Harry had once said “ _ If you search for “son of a bitch” in the dictionary, there is no definition, just his picture _ ”, that summed up the personality of the man quite well.

He was the undersecretary of the Director of the Department of Justice, David Hammond. The latter was a legend in the Ministry, a former officer in the International Division, he had spent most of his career abroad, mainly in Eastern Europe and Egypt. He had returned to the UK shortly before the end of the war against Voldemort and had since risen through the ranks. Ron had only met him once in the past, he remembered his impressive aura. Sternwood could never hope to measure up to him.

"Weasley," he greeted him, completely ignoring Hermione.

Ron looked at her and nodded to her. She got up and apologized, saying she had to go to the bathroom. The young man turned his attention back to his visitor. Sternwood stepped into the room, hands behind his back and went to stand by the window. He looked outside disinterestedly.

“You spoke to him yesterday. Potter. What did he tell you ?”

_ Straight to the point then _ . Ron wondered what it was all about, he usually didn't get involved in ongoing investigations. “Nothing. He didn’t say anything at all.”

Sternwood scrutinized him.  _ This bloody mustache _ . Ron clenched his fist on his blanket.

“If he wakes up, you know what awaits him. Either he delivers Vasilyev to us, or ... Well, even his celebrity status won’t save him.” He turned around and pulled out a newspaper from one of his inside pockets. “Here, a little something to read.”

He threw it without ceremony on the table at the foot of the bed and left the room. Ron waited for the sound of his footsteps to fade completely and leaned over to grab the paper. On the front page of the Daily Prophet, a photograph taken the night before showed Harry in the middle of his escort of aurors, Ron in the lead holding him by the arm. He started to read.

“ _ HARRY POTTER ARRESTED ! _ ”

" _ It was after an investigation to uncover corruption within the Department of Justice that Harry Potter, Hero of the Wizarding World, was taken into custody last night. The overwhelming evidence accumulated by the aurors leaves little doubt as to the involvement of Potter and his team with the infamous criminal, Bogdan Vasilyev (see our March 6, 2008 edition). After a fierce battle, his accomplices managed to flee before they could be captured. Mr. Potter was arrested by none other than his best friend, auror Ronald Weasley, in charge of the investigation. _

_ However, in an unprecedented turn of events, an attempted murder against the suspect led him to St Mungo in critical condition before he could even be questioned. Kingsley Shacklebolt announced  _ […] ”

The article continued, but Ron put the newspaper back on the table, a bitter taste filling his mouth. Hermione returned to the room, accompanied by Rose and Ron's parents. Molly Weasley hugged her son, almost suffocating him, while sniffing loudly. When she released him, his father put his hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Rose climbed onto his bed and settled on his lap. 

Molly saw the newspaper and cried out, “Tissue of lies ! Isn't it, Ron ? It’s not true ! Harry was with you on a mission last night, they must have been wrong !”

He didn't know what to answer her. He could see that she was in total denial, there was no point in trying to contradict her. She started to take out several dishes from her bag and put them on the table, some had been prepared for Harry but the young man wasn’t allowed any visitors.

She kept on mumbling, “It's nonsense, he's like my own son, why am I not allowed to see him …” She then turned to Ron. “You’ll bring this to him when he wakes up. Nothing beats home cooking.”

The young man could feel his heart clench in his chest.

When his parents finally left, it was Crane's turn to visit him. She informed him that Alderson had been sent home earlier that day. She also updated him with the latest elements of the investigation.

“Potter was attacked in the interrogation room and hit with an unidentified curse, there is no witness. The auror who was standing guard was found in the bathroom, she doesn’t remember anything. We think it could be an accomplice of Vasilyev who wanted to prevent him from talking, but as of now we have no leads.”

He let her continue without saying a word. “They searched his home but they couldn’t find anything. His dog attacked one of the aurors, they took him to one of the kennels of the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures.”

_ Keats, loyal Keats _ . Even the sweet dog had not been spared. 

The young woman handed him a letter. “Robards orders you to take a few days off. He doesn't want to see you at the Ministry again until next week.”

He was finally left alone a few hours later, the visitors having been invited to return home by a somewhat grumpy healer. He got up and poked his head through the door of his room. The long, clear corridors were deserted. From neighbouring rooms rose snatches of conversation, the metallic noise of a cutlery falling to the floor or the music of an enchanted transistor.

He put on his pair of shoes, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt that Hermione had brought him earlier, and went out. He walked to the fourth floor and, discreetly, he entered the unit. He found the room he was looking for without difficulty, next to the door was an empty chair ; the auror that should have been there was nowhere in sight. He half-opened the door to the room and slipped inside.

In the twilight darkness, he slowly approached the bed. Harry was asleep, his face peaceful, and he had been washed of all traces of blood. Perfectly motionless apart from the regular rising of his chest with each of his breaths, his features were softly lit by the luminescent line of his heartbeat displayed above him. The way his hair fell on his forehead made him look younger than he was. Potter's health was stable, Crane had told him. Physically, he was fine but for some unknown reason he was not waking up.

“Why ?” he whispered. “Why, Harry ? Why ?” he repeated like a mantra.

With tears filling in his eyes, Ron reached out to touch his hand before changed his mind. He looked at him one last time before heading out. He went back to his own room and laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Without realizing it, he ended up falling into an agitated sleep.

The next morning, the healers allowed him to go home. Hermione had already gone to work and Rose was at the nursery. Acting in autopilot, he made himself a cup of coffee and cut two slices of bread. He then wandered around the living room in his bathrobe, not knowing what to do. At eleven o'clock, after his shower, he decided to go to Grimmauld Place.

He checked that the floo network had not been condemned by the Ministry and threw a handful of floo powder in the hearth. He came out in the large living room of the old London building. While dusting off his clothes, he observed the room. It was in disarray, the cupboards and drawers of the furniture had all been opened, their contents spilled on the floor. Objects of all kinds and papers littered the ground. He stepped forward, avoiding them as best he could. As he crossed the corridor to the stairs, something hit him in the lower back.

Kreacher, broom in hand, was about to hit him a second time when Ron grabbed the handle before it fell on him again.

“Nasty wizard who dares to come and intrude the Master's home …” he muttered furiously.

“Kreacher, stop ! It's me, Ron,” the auror said.

The house elf looked up at him, narrowing his eyes. His scowl was more pronounced than ever. “It's the Master’s friend. Does he know where the Master is ?”

“I'm sorry Kreacher, Harry won't be able to go home right away.”

“Master Potter is in trouble ? Oh Kreacher had warned him. Oh yes, he had warned him,” he grumbled.

Ron opened his mouth to question him, but he suddenly disappeared with a little dry crack. He was left alone in the hallway, broom still in hand. Resting it against the wall, he shook his head and started moving again. The steps of the stairs creaked under his feet as he climbed them and, once upstairs, he headed for the office. The same disorder as in the living room reigned there.

His eyes were drawn to an overturned metal box, lit by a ray of sunshine, from which photographs escaped. He leaned over and picked up a few. Happy faces smiled back at him, his own, Hermione’s, Ginny’s, Harry’s ... Moments of immortalized life, at Hogwarts or at his parents' place. On this one, Harry was carrying Teddy on his shoulders and running on the beach, accompanied by Keats, jumping around them. They looked so happy. On that one, he, Harry and Hermione were sitting in the grass, in the garden of the Burrow, in the middle of a game of exploding snap. He felt a wave of intense nostalgia take hold of him.

He paused on the next photo. It was the picture of a man he did not know, young, maybe between twenty and twenty-two years old, a long nose, brown eyes and thick eyebrows. Lying on a wooden floor in the middle of books and clothes, he was immersed in his reading, absentmindedly running his hand through his short brown hair. Ron found two more photos with the same man, apparently from the same period. Troubled without knowing why, he put them back down.

He spent the next hour inspecting every room in the house, accompanied by Kreacher, who was roughly tidying up the chaos left by the aurors while ignoring him. Absolutely nothing seemed out of the ordinary until he opened the wardrobe. Inside, the clothes were still neatly stored ; there weren't many, Harry wasn’t known for his fashion taste. Ron pushed them aside one by one, stopping his hand on the official auror uniform. He ran his finger over the golden buttons that adorned the dark red sleeves. It had been last worn during the Ten Years celebration of the Battle of Hogwarts, just over a month earlier.

He was about to close the wardrobe doors when he saw a black coat, very elegant, far from the style favored by his friend. He took it out and examined it, one hundred percent cashmere, in perfect condition. Tucked behind, there were several three-piece dark suits. As far back as he could remember, he had never seen Harry wear them. It was strange, but after all maybe Harry had needed them for work or a special occasion that didn't involve Ron.

He didn’t find anything else of interest. He tried one last time to interrogate Kreacher, without success, before he decided to leave. On the way back home, he made a detour to get Rose at the nursery. He spent the afternoon playing with her, enjoying the simplicity of the moment and seizing the opportunity to clear his mind. They were in the middle of building a fort in the living room when Hermione returned from work. Letting Rose play in the middle of the cushions, he stood up to kiss her.

Later that evening, at dinner, she asked him, “Do you remember Parvati Patil ?” 

“I remember her well, yes,” he replied, helping himself with a portion of shepherd's pie.

“She works on the same floor as I do. Today at lunch break, she came to see me to talk to me about Harry. I thought she was going to ask me questions, she was quite famous for being the queen of gossip at Hogwarts.” Hermione placed her cutlery next to her plate. "She told me about her sister, Padma," she said.

“She was in Ravenclaw, right ?”

“Exactly. Apparently she has become a mediwitch, and she is extremely renowned for her work on the unconscious mind of patients in a coma …”

Ron knew exactly where she was going with this conversation.

“Maybe she could take a look at Harry's case ... Find out what curse was used against him ?”

“We should talk to Robards. Anything that affects Harry falls under the jurisdiction of the Auror Office ... Where does she work ?”

“Parvati told me that she lives in Johannesburg but that she is coming to London soon. She already told him about Harry's health, of course.”

The next day, despite Robards' orders, Ron was striding through the corridors of the Ministry. He found his superior in the midst of files scattered across his desk, holding his head in his hands. The young man cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“Ronald ?! I thought I made myself clear ordering you to stay at home …”

“I know, I know, but it's urgent,” he said, sitting down.

He told him about the conversation he had had with Hermione the night before. Robards listened to him carefully. 

With a thoughtful gesture he rubbed his chin. “This could be a solution. However, a healer would not give us information on what he would see in Potter's mind, medical secrecy obliges. Maybe an auror could accompany them if they’d allowed it…,” he thought aloud.

He stood up and said decisively. “Very well, I'm going to contact Miss Patil and see if she would agree to treat Harry Potter. For now, don't tell anyone else, we're going to keep this between us.”

Padma Patil had been surprised to be contacted by the head of the Auror office. Of course, she was aware that Harry Potter had been arrested before ending up in a coma in St Mungo. Her sister had told her all the details on the very day it happened. In addition, in the wizarding medical community, Potter's case raised questions. What curse could have been used ? She herself was curious.

For several years, she had focused on research and had developed a revolutionary technique allowing to dive into the memories of comatose patients and get them out of their deep sleep. Described as genius by her peers, she was not Ravenclaw for nothing. She had often been criticized for not being empathetic enough with her patients ; she saw this as an advantage : diving into someone's subconscious could lead to unpleasant side effects, such as emotional transfer. The stronger the links with the subject, the greater the risk that the transfer would be important and unpleasant.

A week after Gawain Robards' call, Padma set down her suitcase on the floor of Heathrow International Airport, having just arrived by portkey from Johannesburg. The magical international departures and arrivals area was perfectly camouflaged behind a huge poster depicting a tropical island, in the middle of the muggle airport. The poster in question was a bit old, the colors were no longer very bright, and nobody paid attention to it when passing by. A little further away, she could see Parvati who was waving her hand at her.

A meeting at the Ministry had been arranged between her, Ronald Weasley and Robards. They were able to discuss the details of her work together. When asked if it was possible for Weasley to participate in the dive, she flatly refused.

“It’s absolutely out of the question. With your relationship, the risk of transfer is far too high.”

She tried to offer to bring in another auror. Ron strongly opposed it. “It will be me or no one, I will not let a stranger enter his mind, he would never forgive me. You just have to teach me how to deal with side effects.”

After a bitter discussion, she finally let herself be convinced. “You have to understand that I do not decide what memories we are going see. His unconscious will guide us, and I cannot guarantee a hundred percent success of the operation.”

She explained the procedure to them, patiently answering their various questions. At the end of the interview, Robards had the mediwitch sign a strict confidentiality clause. They agreed on a date for the first session. In two days time, they would dive into the mind of Harry Potter.


	6. Chapter VI - Andante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 6 and we're already halfway through the story!  
> I hope there aren't too many mistakes!  
> For those wondering, the titles of the chapters are classical music terms and they give an indication of the pace of the story each time. I will recommend a few songs to listen to while reading for future chapters, if you want to.  
> Thanks to everyone who's reading this story, don't be afraid to leave a review or a kudo! (ᐛ )و  
> Good reading!

No one was speaking. The healer finished his auscultation and turned to Padma, nodding to her. The patient's condition was satisfactory, the dive could be allowed. With his shoulder resting against the window from where he watched the comings and goings of passers-by in the street below, Ron was mentally preparing himself. He had no idea what he was going to see in Harry's memories.

Padma motioned for him to come closer. She had prepared three vials of potion, the slightly amber liquid sparkled with the morning light shining on it and reflected on the wall. She gave one to the healer ; he poured it between the lips of the patient who swallowed it reflexively. Ron and her drank the other two ; he was surprised by the sweet and pleasant taste of the potion. They sat on armchairs, both placed on the same side of the bed. Then she placed her left hand on Ron's arm, and in her right hand she held her wand.

After a final glance at the healer, who would stay in the room for the duration of the session, she cast her incantation, pointing her wand at Harry's temple.

Ron had expected the dive to give him a feeling similar to what it was like to look in a pensieve. Nothing happened for a few minutes, then suddenly he felt like the ground was giving under him and that he was being sucked through the floor. He let out a cry of surprise and felt Padma's hand close on his arm.

“That's normal,” she calmly said to him, “breathe, close your eyes if that can make you feel better.”

He felt like he was falling down into a void. Color flashes, sounds and smells assaulted his senses, he could at times distinguish sharper images, faces or places, disappearing just as quickly as they had appeared. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Suddenly everything stopped. Chamber music and a cacophony of conversations were the first thing he heard. Disoriented, he opened his eyes and looked around.

They were in a large ballroom decorated in a rococo style, majestic chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling, the sparkling glass reflected in the large mirrors that adorned the walls. Above the chandeliers, an enchanted ceiling represented a starry sky crossed by the Milky Way. In the middle of the hundred guests, small golden round tables were covered with various and varied dishes, immediately replaced as soon as someone would take a serving.

A witch in an emerald robe walked past Ron. He observed the rest of the guests, all of them dressed in elegant formal dresses and suits. Instinctively, he looked down at his own clothes and uttered a gasp of surprise. He was completely translucent, just like ghosts were. He stretched his arms out in front of him and turned them over. Beside him Padma giggled.

“It’s surprising isn't it ? It shouldn't be since we are not in the material world, but I always find it amusing,” she commented. She pointed to someone behind Ron. “Potter is right there.”

He turned around. It was indeed Harry but looking a few years younger. Ron frowned, delving into his own memories. They were at a gala, and judging by his friend's official uniform, it was a Ministry gala. He was chatting with another auror, a glass of champagne in his hand. His hair was impeccably styled ; he had accidentally discovered a spell that allowed him to tame them during their second year at the auror academy ... He rarely used it.

Padma was taking in their surroundings. “Any idea of the date, Weasley ?”

“I would say 2000, it looks like the gala that followed our auror graduation.”

They moved closer to Harry. Padma had explained to him that they would always be attached to the young man, never being able to get away from him. Standing closer, he could feel his friend’s emotions almost as if they were his own, his thoughts touching his mind, light as the touch of a feather. It was a strange feeling. What surprised him was the obvious bitterness in them.

The auror with whom he just had had a conversation moved away and Harry watched the room. He recognized the faces of politicians who, just a few years earlier, when he was only fifteen, were ready to castigate him for announcing the return of Voldemort. Some were almost worse than Dolores Umbridge. He forced a smile on his face when a graying little wizard approached him and began to speak to him as if they were old friends.  _ Hypocrites _ . He knew that if he made the slightest misstep, they wouldn't waste any time calling him the new dark lord. He turned his attention back to the other man and nodded, as if he was listening to what he was telling him. He was feeling hot and oppressed, and he pulled on the collar of his uniform.

He had always hated these big stuffy events that brought together the cream of the crop of Wizarding society, he also hated the attention he would receive there. He was a celebrity in spite of himself, the  _ Hero of the Wizarding World _ , the  _ Boy-Who-Lived _ ... He just wanted to be Harry and to be left alone. The sound of broken glass caught the wizard's attention and Harry seized the opportunity to excuse himself from the unwanted discussion.

He discreetly left the ballroom and walked in a large dark and deserted corridor. Alone at least, he sighed and began pacing, admiring the paintings hanging on the wall. Most of them represented landscapes, a few sleeping portraits were snoring softly which made him smile. He saw a door ajar from which filtered a stream of light. Curious, he approached and entered the room. It was a majestic library, the walls of which were covered with huge shelves filled with old books of all sizes and colors.

He stepped inside while turning around to admire the volumes. In the middle of the room, there were several large tables. On one of them, a lamp dimly lit the darkness. He was pulling a book out of its place with his index finger when he heard the door creak. Raising his head, he dropped the book and opened his mouth, ready to apologize for venturing out of the soirée.

“It's a surprise to meet you here, Mr. Potter,” said a deep, suave voice.

Approaching him, David Hammond held out his hand. He was a forty-two years old man with dark hair and a bald head at the temples. He had inherited the facial features of his father, of Egyptian origin. Above his upper lip, he had a think black mustache, just like Clark Gable, and his dark calculating eyes seemed able to see right through those he was looking at. Harry remembered that he was a former Magic Intelligence officer ; he had never met him personally but his reputation preceded him. His flawless three-piece gala robes made him appear even more intimidating.

Harry accepted his outstretched hand. Immediately Hammond's other hand closed over his. He was unable to move.

“Is the party not to your liking ?”

“I needed to take a breath out for a moment, I must admit that I am not adept of this kind of gatherings”.

“I understand, it can sometimes be tedious to entertain a crowd of unknown wizards all evening. I guess your status does not allow you to go unnoticed.”

“No, indeed, it does not.”

He was about to open his mouth to excuse himself when Hammond spoke again. “Have you thought about the rest of your career, Harry ? May I call you Harry ?” he added with a smile.

The young man nodded without thinking. “Ah ... I just finished my auror training, I don't have a defined plan yet, I'm only twenty years old …”

“It is never too early to be ambitious. Maybe we could work together, your reputation, my contacts… It is important to seize the opportunities by choosing to support the right people, if you know what I mean.”

Hammond stared at him for a long time, his gaze unreadable. His hands still tightly held Harry's. “With a face like yours ... you could go far,” he said in a low tone, watching him as a predator would watch its prey.

The innuendo was obvious and a drop of sweat slid down his spine. The man's gaze pinned him on the spot, he couldn't answer nor move.

“Harry ?” Kingsley Shacklebolt's booming voice echoed in the hallway, making him jump. His hand was released from between Hammond's.

“I ... here ! I’m coming !” he yelled, taking a step back.

“We should meet again, Harry, take the time to discuss further,” Hammond said with a smile.

Without answering, the auror hastily left the library. As he walked down the hall, he realized he was shaking. He looked down at his hand in disgust. He felt dirty and humiliated.

The scene suddenly dissipated and Ron felt like he was free falling again. Padma's hand grabbed his. When he touched the ground, he opened his eyes. They were in Harry's room at Grimmauld Place. His eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. He heard a sniffing sound from a corner of the room and approached, closely followed by Padma.

Sitting on the floor between the wall and the dresser, clad in pajama bottoms, Harry was holding his arms tight around his legs that were folded against him, his head resting on his knees. It wasn't the first time Ron saw him like this. After the war, he regularly had nightmares that caused him anxiety attacks which he could take several hours to recover from. He had even, for a time, been addicted to dreamless sleep potions, although their regular consumption could prove to be dangerous for health. Over the years, he had reassured his friends that the nightmares had completely disappeared.

Ron was about to touch his arm as if to comfort him when the bedroom door opened. Ginny Weasley, eyes still sleepy, entered the room and walked towards the young man.

“Oh Harry,” she whispered softly, kneeling in front of him.

She touched his hand, then his arm, and when he looked up, his cheek. He gradually relaxed under her light touch. She took his hand and helped him up before leading him to the bed. They laid down opposite one another.

“Do you want to talk about it ?”

“Not really. Did I wake you up ? I’m sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize,” she said, running her hand through his hair. “You don't have to be alone in these moments, Harry.”

There was silence then he asked. “When do you have to leave ?”

“Not before eleven o'clock. Training doesn’t start until the early afternoon.”

“Can you stay with me tonight ?”

She smiled softly. “You don't even have to ask.”

The ground fell under their feet again and Ron and Padma found themselves in a different scene.

They were in Robards' office. Harry and two other aurors were standing in front of their superior, who sitting behind his desk.  _ Anger _ . It was the first emotion that struck Ron. They had just submitted a report to Robards. Their case involved a wizard suspected of being involved in the murder of a young woman. The suspect was a wealthy heir to an ancient pureblood family. Harry and his team had thoroughly investigated, but had found no evidence incriminating the man. However, the dark haired auror was certain of the suspect's guilt. And his instinct was rarely mistaken, even though his friends often reminded him that he could be slightly obsessive when he had a culprit in sight.

Sharply putting the file down on his desk, Robards asked them to drop the case. The victim's family had suddenly wanted the investigation to end and the case would be closed. Harry knew that the suspect's parents had done everything to cover it up.  _ It was unfair _ . Under the pretext that he was a rich, pureblood wizard, he could afford to escape justice ? He was fuming inside. Clenching his jaw, he nodded to Robards and left the room without even waiting for his teammates.

He walked, crossing the Auror Office entirely, passed the large door and stopped in the middle of the corridor under the great arches overlooking the atrium. He leaned on the railing, arms crossed. Ron, at least his younger version, joined him a few minutes later. They watched the crowd coming and going in the atrium for a moment.

“It's unfair,” Harry repeated aloud.

“What can you do ? You can hardly go against orders, unless you want to say goodbye to your career.”

“I just have the impression that everything is exactly as it was before, back in Fudge's and Scrimgeour's time. If you choose your friends well, you can do whatever you want and get by without having to face the consequences of your actions …”

“The world is like that,” Ron replied in a resigned tone.

“It's because of these kinds of thoughts that society doesn't evolve,” Harry sighed. “Isn't it precisely up to us to make things change ? I don't know if I can keep working like this.” He took off his glasses and wiped them down with a pan of his uniform, then put them back on. “I’m thinking about requesting my transfer to the DIVCO.”

“The DIVCO ?” Ron said with surprise.

“Why not ? After all I grew up with muggles. And I think I need to see other things, to move away if only a little bit from the Wizarding World.”

They stayed quiet for a few minutes. Ron broke the silence first. “I heard that they were doing part of their training in France.”

“Mmh. Their wizard-muggle collaboration division is much older than ours, they are more experienced,” replied Harry.

“You’ll have to send me a postcard, mate !” Ron said, patting him on the shoulder.

Ron was starting to get used to the feeling of the dive. He always kept his eyes closed during the fall, preferring to reopen them only after the memory had stabilized.

This time, they were in an apartment. A beautiful room with white walls, lit by the rays of the sun which filtered through half-closed shutters. On the dark wooden floor all kinds of clothes and books, lots of books, Ron noted, were scattered. There was a quiet atmosphere there, one of a late summer afternoon, where time seems to slow down but does not stop completely. Music came from a neighboring apartment, the female voice that sang was distinctly French.

On a large, unmade bed, Harry was sitting in the middle of papers dispersed around him. He was visibly engrossed in his reading, his hair was in disarray and he was simply dressed in sweatpants. In the midst of the disorder, there was a French muggle newspaper,  _ Le Monde _ , on which appeared the date of August 8, 2002. In a corner of the room, near the window, a young man stood in front of a large mirror. With a book in his hand, he was reciting a text with a slight accent that Ron could not place. He recognized him immediately, he was the person in the photos he had found in Grimmauld Place. On the bed, Harry looked up and watched the other man with a smile.

The dark haired auror rose and slowly stretched, then came to stand behind the man, who was taller than him. He wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his neck, their eyes meeting in the mirror. He put his chin on his shoulder and listened to him finish his monologue, accompanied by the musical notes coming from outside.

The brown haired man turned around and looked at Harry. “What do you think ?”

“Brilliant. They’ll love you. I'm sure you’ll make an absolutely perfect Hamlet.”

“If I'm Hamlet, that makes you Ophelia, you know. I bet you would be very beautiful in a long white dress with a crown of flowers in your hair.”

“Ah ! In your dreams !” laughed Harry.

“I should take you to bed, maybe you’ll reconsider,” the other said, inching closer to him.

With a flutter of wings, a little tawny owl rushed under the shutters. In one of its claws it was holding a letter addressed to  _ Aleksandr _ . Harry grabbed it and took the missive.

“Sasha, it's for you,” he said, handing it to the other man.

Harry stroked the little owl's head which hooted softly before letting it go. Sasha opened the letter, scanned it quickly, then tore it into small pieces. He grabbed his wand from the desk next to the mirror and burned the scraps of paper.

“Bad news ?”

“My father,” he replied in a tone of disgust. “Always the same refrain, he asks me to reconsider my life choices and to return to my people ... I receive this kind of letter regularly, don't worry about it,” he turned his gaze back on Harry. “Now, where were we ?”

The scene faded in another flash of colors. When Ron opened his eyes again, he was sitting in the plump chair next to Harry's hospital bed. He felt Padma move to his right and stretched. Passing a hand behind his neck while turning his head to dispel the stiffness he felt, he asked, “How long did it last ?”

The healer who had remained in the room was sitting across from them, an edition of the Daily Prophet in his hands. He looked up at Ron and answered him. “About three hours, it’s noon.”

Padma spoke while watching Harry, still peacefully asleep. “That's about the normal duration of a dive. Staying longer could be detrimental to the subject’s health. We will resume tomorrow.”

Ron put his elbows on his thighs and rested his chin on his crossed hands. He thought back to what he had just seen. He was confused and didn't really understand the connection between the different memories. He frowned, remembering the last one. He reminded himself of all the relationships Harry had had in recent years, there had been Ginny. They had separated shortly after they got into the auror academy. Then Oona, a cheerful magicobotanist met through Neville, then ... Why had he never mentioned this Sasha ?  _ No, Harry was not _ …

Padma interrupted his thoughts, “It does look like he is, Weasley.”

Ron turned to her, confused.

“You think very loudly,” she said unapologetically with a shrug.

_ Huh. _

When he got home later that day, he told Hermione everything in great detail. She listened to him carefully until he was finished. He told her of his confusion about the memories observed.

“I think his subconscious wants to show us the story from the start,” she replied. “I told you, I’m sure it’s a lot more complicated than it looks. Let's wait to see what he will reveal to us.”

He could see that deep inside, she desperately believed that Harry was innocent and, if he had to be perfectly honest with himself, Ron wanted to believe it as well. He hoped that the following dives would prove them right.


	7. Chapter VII - Vivace

The street was deserted. The first rays of the rising sun made the orange foliage of the trees glow in the morning mist. In the cold, their breaths formed small clouds of condensation with each exhalation. Harry shivered as Sasha walked at his side with a dancing step. They had spent the night out, celebrating the success of the premiere of the play in which the young man played the lead role. They had just bid goodbye to the other actors and were heading to Grimmauld Place. Still tipsy with the leftover alcohol from the night and inspired by the beauty of the landscape, Sasha began to recite a poem.

“ _ Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, _

_ Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; _

_ Conspiring with him how to load and bless _

_ With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run… _ ”

He was spinning around while declaiming stanzas. Beside him, his hands tucked in his pockets to protect them from the cold, Harry laughed. He laughed with his whole body, leaning forward a little while tipping his head back. He was  _ happy _ . Sasha continued.

“...  _ Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where are they ? _

_ Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— _

_ While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, _

_ And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue _ …” 

Suddenly, as they walked past a park, he jumped onto a bench and, raising an arm, turned to Harry, who stopped and looked up to watch him, still laughing.

“...  _ And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; _

_ Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft _

_ The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft ; _

_ And gathering swallows twitter in the skies _ !”

Around them, some early passers-by threw them curious glances. Sasha leaned over, grabbed Harry's face between his hands and kissed him. They parted, continuing to look at each other with big smiles, affection clear in their eyes.

With a heavy heart, Ron wondered when he had last seen such an expression of happiness on his best friend's face. In a whirlwind of colors, he let himself be carried away towards the next memory.

Harry was going down the steps one at a time. The muted music echoed in the semi-dark stairwell, only lightly lit by a glowing red neon. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a large black door near which a security guard was standing still, hands crossed in front of him. As Harry approached, he stared at him then nodded and opened the door. The auror entered.

Inside of the nightclub, the music was intense. The black light brought out the whiteness of his T-shirt, contrasting with his black pants. A compact crowd was swaying to the rhythm of the bass, on the dance floor as well as on the small stages dispersed around the room. On the back wall, a giant screen was broadcasting images as diverse as colorful accompanying the variations of the DJ. His senses were assailed by the heavy odors of sweat, alcohol and perfume.

Harry arduously made his way to the bar, barely avoiding a waiter carrying a tray loaded with full glasses. He waved at the bartender and ordered a drink. Leaning on the counter, he turned around and observed the room.

He had memorized the face of his target and tried to spot him among the revelers. He then looked up at the balconies overlooking the dance floor, not letting any detail escape his vigilance. The man he had followed to this club was a wizard, a drug dealer operating on both sides, muggle as well as magical.

Harry and his team had traced their way back to him following the path of corpses he had left behind him. He was no small kingpin, and the auror wondered if it wouldn’t have been safer to wait for his teammates instead of spying on him by himself tonight.

He felt movement beside him and turned. A woman was trying to get his attention, visibly tipsy, pushing her low-cut chest towards him. He smiled politely and shook his head, the music too loud to hear anything, then resumed his observation. He was taking a sip of his cocktail when he finally spotted his target, accompanied by another man. He quickly put his glass down and started to move.

The criminal and his acolyte walked to a door vaguely hidden under the staircase going up to the balconies and disappeared. Harry followed them after casting a stealth spell on himself. He entered a dark corridor which, like the entrance, was lit with red artificial light. The bass sound of music was coming to him muffled. He advanced cautiously, turning to the right at the end of the hall, after checking that the way was clear. A door was slightly open and Harry could make out several voices but not the conversations. He approached silently.

“... isn't me !” a man was saying, his tone betraying anger.

“Is that so ? And the goods vanished on their own perhaps ?” another one replied with disdain. “You knew what was going to happen if you tried to cross us, Blake.” The voice was familiar to Harry, but he couldn't replace it.

“If you try to take it out on me, you should think twice. I know exactly how you have managed to extend your influence. I took out insurance, if anything were to happen to me, everything would be revealed to the press and to the aurors.”

“You want to talk about that ?” The sound of an object falling on the ground resounded followed by a surprised gasp.

A door opened and Harry could hear that something was being dragged on the floor. The whining of a female voice gave him goosebumps. He moved a little closer to the door to try to see the scene without being spotted.

In the middle of the bare room, the trafficker was on his knees, a panicked look painted on his face, glistening with perspiration. A man in a dark, elegant wizard's robe stood beside him, his back turned to Harry. On the ground in front of him, a young brunette woman, having obviously been beaten, he feet and hands tied and gagged, was throwing him desperate glances. The auror could hear the sounds of several other people in the room, but it was impossible for him to see them without having to open the door.

“No ! Not her !” The criminal tried desperately to rush towards the woman but was restrained by another wizard who suddenly appeared and forced him to stay put. “I'll do whatever you want ! Please, let her go ! She has nothing to do with it !” he begged.

“Maybe you should have thought about what your ambition was going to cost you, Blake. It's a little late now.”

The man with his back to Harry turned slightly to the side, as if to look at someone the young auror couldn't see. His profile stood out in the harsh light and Harry widened his eyes. He only knew one person who spoke with such a dismissive tone. 

Having visibly received the signal he was waiting for, he turned to Blake and raised his wand, “ _ Avada Kedavra _ !”

The woman's muffled cry immediately followed the green lightning and the sound of a crumbling body. Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. Did he just really see Claudius Sternwood, the undersecretary of the Director of the Department of Justice, murder a man in cold blood ?

“What about her ?”

The sound of a chair pulled to the floor and slow steps broke the silence. “She will be perfect for one of our establishments, after a little amnesia spell.”

Harry recoiled at the sound of that other voice. He couldn't stay there, he had to get out of here as soon as possible, contact the Office. He spun around and collided with a body. A guard, the one who had escorted Blake here, had sneaked behind him without a sound. Before he had time to cast his first spell, the man grabbed his head and hit it hard against the wall. His vision blurred and he let go of his wand. The commotion caused by the scene drew two other wizards out of the room, one of whom helped the first to subdue Harry while the third one picked up his wand which had rolled a little further down the hall.

The auror was roughly dragged through the door. Trying to struggle, he received a punch in the face, a metallic taste invaded his mouth, and he was forced on his knees. Someone restrained his hands behind his back with a binding spell. He quickly lifted up his head.

To his left, arms crossed over his chest and a look of disdain mixed with anger, stood Sternwood, his blond hair still flawlessly combed back. Three other wizards were behind him, dressed in dark robes, their faces inexpressive. Blake's corpse was on the floor a little further away, his face frozen in an expression of panic, his eyes wide open and completely empty. Beside him was a young woman, whose hunched body was shaking with sobs accompanied by terrified whimpers. From a briefcase at her feet, protruded documents, papers and photographs, as well as small vials containing the bluish filaments of memories that were enclosed therein ;  _ was it the insurance the trafficker had talked about  _ ?

Facing Harry, sitting casually on a chair behind a small metal desk and his eyes staring at him calculatingly, was David Hammond. He tapped his fingers on the desk three times, then stood up.

“Harry Potter.” He paused and walked over to the young man, stopping directly in front of him and looking at him with interest mixed with contempt. Harry involuntarily shivered under his gaze. “When I said I wanted to see you again, it wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said in a slightly disappointed tone. “It is unfortunate. I've always said that curiosity is a bad thing.”

Sternwood, still leaning against the wall, let out a little laugh in a snort.

“I see that you seem upset by what you have just seen,” he continued. “But maybe we can find common ground. My proposal still stands, work for me and take advantage of what we each have to offer. I can assure you of a brilliant career in the Ministry.”

“And become your minion ? Participate in your questionable activities ? Never !” Harry spat.

Hammond leaned forward, then with an abrupt gesture, grabbed his face with one hand and squeezed it painfully. “We are going to make a deal you and me, Mr. Potter. Whether you like it or not,” he hissed between his teeth. “You  _ will _ forget what you just saw and we  _ will _ work together.”

Harry tried to shake his head in protest and he tightened his grip. “Think of the well-being of your loved ones. Your friends, Weasley, Granger, Longbottom... Whose promising careers could be interrupted suddenly, or even find themselves victims of untimely accidents... And the child, little Teddy Lupin, is that it ?”

Harry held his breath, sweat was running down his temples.

“What would happen if rumors surfaced about his possible lycanthropy inherited from his father ? His future at Hogwarts may well be compromised…” The man's threats aroused a mixture of anger and terror in the depths of his being. “Aleksandr Vasilyev ? Or your dreamless sleep potion addiction ? Do you really think you could hide your secrets from me ? I know everything about you.”

“I won't let you ... Shacklebolt …”

Hammond interrupted him, “Do you really think I am on my own in the Ministry ? I told you, it’s all about relationships, and I do have plenty of them. I can hurt you, a lot, Harry. Do not tempt me,” he finished coldly.

He released his face and, stepping back, drew a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hand. The auror turned his head and spat a mouthful of blood on the ground.

“Do we have an agreement, Harry ?”

The young man inhaled then nodded while exhaling. Hammond signaled to Sternwood, who uncrossed his arms and approached Harry. He then stood behind him and leaned over, whispering viciously in his ear while lifting the binding spell, “One word out to anyone and you’ll have to pay the consequences, Potter.”

The scene suddenly shifted.

In the empty hallway, Harry was pounding on the door of the apartment. He could hear footsteps, accompanied by a sleepy “Coming, coming” and followed by the sound of a key turning. The door opened and Sasha's tired face appeared.

“Harry ? What… ?” He let him in and closed the door behind him. 

Harry was shivering from head to toe, shaking his hands in front of him while pacing in the living room. As soon as he had gotten out of the nightclub, he had started running, for a long time, until he got here. He tried to calm himself down by closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. 

Sasha approached him. “Are you alright ? What happened to your face ?!” he exclaimed, touching his cheek with his fingertips.

Harry drew back his head quickly with a grimace of pain. Sasha guided him to the sofa and made him sit down. "Wait for me here," he ordered gently.

He returned a few moments later with a small translucent glass jar. Gently, he applied the balm to the impressive hematoma that adorned Harry's cheekbone and stretched out under his eye.

“Harry, what happened ?”

The auror looked at him, seeking his gaze to find courage. He hesitated for a moment, then told him everything. When he said Hammond's name, Sasha frowned thoughtfully. “I think I have heard that name somewhere.”

“He is the director of the Department of Magical Justice. His name is often mentioned in the press.”

“And he said that he wants you to work for him ? What does that even mean ?”

“Use my influence to enhance his reputation, publicly support him, obey him without thinking…”

They sat for a moment in silence. The day had broken in the meantime and the pouring rain was streaming down the apartment windows. Sasha took one of his hands in his own, intertwining their fingers together. “Are you really going to let him get away with it ?”

Harry looked down, fixing his gaze on their joined hands. “You weren't there, you didn't see his eyes... I was terrified, Sasha,” he confessed in a whisper. “On my own against him, I doubt I could do anything.”

Sasha placed a hand on his unharmed cheek and turned his face, forcing the young auror to look at him. “But you're not on your own, I'm here. Your teammates are there, your friends too.”

It was true. He had Ron, his best friend, his brother. They had survived the war together. With a glimmer of hope in his heart, he asked, “Can I use your fireplace ?”

He threw a handful of floo powder while announcing his friend's address. Kneeling down on the floor, he put his head in the hearth and called, “Ron ?”

The living room was empty. He heard light steps approach and Hermione appeared, she was tying up her hair, a rubber band between her teeth, and a wool sweater covering up her thighs.

“Harry ? How are you ? It’s very early for a morning call !”

“I’m good,” he replied evasively. “Is Ron here ?”

“He is in the shower, we are expected at the Burrow for the weekend.”

All of a sudden, harry thought back to Hammond's threats. Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, Teddy ... If he told anything about what had transpired earlier, he would endanger them all. Who knew who else in the Ministry was involved with the man ? He felt a knot tie in his stomach. It was a terrible idea. 

Hermione was still talking to him. “Harry ? Is everything alright ?”

“Yes. Yes, everything is fine. It doesn't matter, it's not urgent. I'll see him on Monday. I have to go. Have a good weekend.” He ended the conversation before she could answer him.

The memories were shifting from one to another without a pause. Ron and Padma were in front of the fireplace, the next moment they were standing in the same hallway, obviously on a different day. Harry, his hair damp from the rain, was carrying a paper bag in his arms with a few groceries in it. The sleeve of the Daily Prophet was sticking out and Ron could read the date on it ; January 5, 2003. He saw his friend knock once and turn the handle of the front door ; it was not locked. The interior of the room was plunged into darkness. 

He turned on the switch and called, “Sasha ? I'm home. I took golubtsy at the Russian market on the way. The babushka who runs the stand asked me about you.”

He walked into the room and put the bag on the small kitchen table. When he turned his head to look in the living room, his blood froze in his veins. He let out a scream filled with dread. “SASHA !!”

The young man's still body was hanging from one of the exposed beams on the ceiling, his hands tied behind his back. Harry rushed towards him and with a swift movement of his wand, cast a spell to cut the tight rope around his neck. He caught him up before he fell to the ground.

“Sasha ! Sasha !” he yelled desperately, grabbing his shoulders. “No no no no…”

His face was purplish, his lips blue, his bulging reddened eyes were staring at the void. Harry kept shaking the stiff body crying, screaming at him to wake up, to look at him, not to do that,  _ he couldn't do that _ ,  _ he couldn't leave him _ ,  _ he had promised to always stay with him _ .

Arms grabbed him, trying to separate him from the body but he struggled, refusing to let go. Finally they managed to pull him apart Sasha and Harry realized that his wailing had alerted the neighbours who had called paramedics for help.

They could only confirm the young man’s death. One of the medics tried to ask Harry questions, but in his shock he completely ignored him. Sitting on the couch, his eyes staring at nothing, everything around him felt like it was out of focus. Muggle police succeeded the paramedics, asking Harry to follow them to the station to record his testimony. They repeatedly asked him the same questions. “ _ Did you know him well _ ?”, “ _ Was he suicidal _ ?”, “ _ Where were you just before you came home _ ?”, “ _ Are you the one who found him _ ?”, “ _ Did he have any family  _ ?". Indifferent, Harry answered them automatically and monosyllabically. They finally left him alone, sitting in his chair, under the white, buzzing light of the neon lights.

He looked up when he heard the door to the small room opening and closing. Claudius Sternwood, dressed in a muggle suit, offered him a condescending smile.

“We warned you, Potter. Every action has consequences.” He half sat on the table in front of Harry and crossed his hands over his thighs. “Did you really think we wouldn’t learn that you had looked for information on our activities ?”

He chuckled and leaned over to the young man, staring at him straight in the eye, “Here’s what’s going to happen now. If you want all your little friends to live a long and happy life, you are going to be a good boy.” He paused. “You will continue to conduct your small investigations within the DIVCO, you will solve them successfully and thank Director Hammond for his guidance and generosity. And if unfortunately you meet someone working for us, you turn a blind eye and ignore it. Capice?”

Slowly, without actually hearing Sternwood's words, Harry nodded.


	8. Chapter VIII - Moderato

When Ron surfaced, a stream of tears was running down his cheeks. He felt like his heart had been ripped out, the pain was unbearable. Uncontrollable sobs escaped from his mouth.

“Ron ? Ron !” Padma was calling him urgently. She turned him in his chair, so that he was facing her. “Look at me. These are not your emotions. Everything is fine, you are in St Mungo.”

He knew all that, but they could just as well have been his, he didn't feel any difference. He closed his eyes and tried to control himself, taking in deep breaths in and releasing them slowly. After a few minutes, the sobs subsided.

His attention shifted to Harry, still peacefully asleep. Had it really happened to him ? It seemed absurd. How could he have suffered such an ordeal without his friends noticing ? Ron felt incredibly guilty for not seeing anything. The faces of Hammond and Sternwood appeared in his mind, causing him to shiver with anger mixed with terror.  _ Robards _ . He had to contact Robards immediately.

Leaving Padma behind without a goodbye, he exited the room, went down the great stairs precipitately and rushed towards the fireplaces in the great hall of St Mungo.

When he arrived at the Auror Office, the secretary informed him that Gawain Robards was in the middle of a meeting. “He should be back soon,” he said, looking at his watch.

Upset, Ron made his way to his office to wait for him. Crane, Morton and Alderson looked up in perfect sync as he entered.

“Weasley !”

“Ron !”

“Boss ! Are you coming back ?”

“Hey guys. I'm just passing by, Desmond. How are you feeling ?”

“Oh, very good ! I am perfectly recovered !” he replied, giving him thumbs up.

Ron forced a smile on his face, “Happy to hear it.”

Then, while looking at the large board on which the elements of the investigation were displayed, he addressed his three teammates. “Anything new ?”

“It's dead calm. Still no progress with the search of our suspect, we could as well be chasing smoke,” said Crane with a frustrated voice.

She stretched out on her chair and ran her hands through her curly hair. On the desk next to hers, Morton swirled a pencil between her fingers. “The chief told us that you were working on a special project. Can you tell us more about it ?” she casually asked.

They all looked at him attentively, suddenly very still.

“Sorry, absolutely top secret, I can't say anything. And why did he even tell you about it ?” he asked, frowning. “He was the one to make me promise not to reveal anything to you.”

“He has a weakness for Desmond's mother's cakes. You just have to offer him one to make him lower his defenses,” Crane replied with a sly smile.

“Are you talking about me ?” Robards stood in the doorway, his back straight and his hands in his pockets. “Ronald ? I was told you were looking for me. Has something happened ?”

By the tone of his voice, Ron could guess he meant “ _ with Harry ? _ ”. His superior nodded to him. “Come in my office.”

He turned on his heel and Ron followed, waving goodbye at his teammates.

“... David Hammond and Claudius Sternwood ? Merlin …” He ran a hand over his face with a tired gesture. “And Bogdan Vasilyev ? Have you seen anything about him ?”

“No nothing. However ... Sasha. Aleksandr. At one point Hammond clearly said “ _ Aleksandr Vasilyev _ ”. Do you reckon they could be related ? Perhaps his son …”

“I do remember that Vasilyev actually lost his son a few years ago. The muggle police had classified it as suicide, no wizarding authority wanted to get involved in the case. In 2003, right ?”

Ron nodded. Robards seemed to be thinking aloud, the young auror made no comment. “His organization was active during this period, partaking in a lot of trafficking, leaving behind a lot of corpses too.”

There was a moment of silence. Ron hesitated then asked. “ What about Hammond… How are we going to deal with him ?”

“We’re not going to rush anything. We don’t know who his men are in the Ministry, or how far his influence goes. We need more evidence. More than anything, we need witnesses, like Harry. It is essential to wake him up so that he can speak,” he declared. He stood up and placed his hands flat on his desk, looking at Ron. “For the time being, we keep it secret, we increase security in St Mungo and we maintain a low profile.”

The low murmur of conversations filled the room with the dark wooden walls. It was almost packed full, everyone attending was dressed in sober dresses and costumes, reflecting the general mood. Harry himself was wearing in a midnight blue shirt, black jacket and pants, with a loose tie. He walked in slowly, looking haggard.

At the back of the room, in front of a small altar and covered with impressive wreaths of flowers, the coffin was half open. Sasha was lying there. Eyes closed, covered with a layer of makeup to mask the color of his face, he had a bible tucked under his chin. He would have hated it. He had fled his family and their strict Orthodox tradition years ago. Harry had always wondered how his father managed to reconcile his faith, his magic and his criminal activities.

Glancing at the assembly, he saw the man himself a few yards away. Bogdan Vasilyev, a mane of silver hair elegantly combed back, his beard of the same color impeccably trimmed, looking like a tsar from the beginning of the previous century. He was wearing a dark wizard's robe over an elegant black shirt. The Russian seemed to be in the midst of a solemn discussion with an elderly woman when his eyes met Harry's.

Before he could even realize what was happening, the auror was violently pressed against the wall, the other man's forearm crushing his windpipe. He tried to free himself, his hands tightening around the offending arm. Vasilyev pressed a little harder against his throat, cutting his breath, before very slightly loosening his grip.

“How dare you show yourself here,  _ auror _ ?” He was livid, under his tongue, his Rs rolled, betraying his strong Russian accent. “You came here to admire your handiwork ? Mh ? Are you satisfied ?” he asked, punctuating each of his questions with a press of his arm.

“My son !” he shouted furiously. “Is dead ! Because of you !”

Harry was trying to shake his head, hands still clinging to Vasilyev's arm, tears running down his cheeks. He replied with difficulty, “No ... It's not me ... I didn't ... Didn't want to ... Just tell him ... Goodbye …”

The criminal's gaze plunged into his and he felt the familiar pressure of legilimency. He did not resist, letting down his mental barriers. After a few moments, Vasilyev released him, letting his arm fall to his side. Raising his hands to his neck, the young man leaned forward, coughing and trying to catch his breath.

“Out of my sight,” the Russian said, almost inaudibly. “Out. GET OUT !”

Men grabbed him and dragged him out of the room as he tried to glance one last time at the face of the man he loved.

There was now almost no time out between the various scenes, merging with each other, barely giving Ron and Padma time to assimilate what they were seeing.

Sitting on the floor in the dimly lit living room, his back against the wall, Harry was holding in his hand a half-full bottle of Firewhisky. He raised his head and let it fall back against the wall with a thud. His mouth twisted into a sob, a long wail escaping from his throat. Empty vials of dreamless sleep potion littered the floor, scattered all around him.

The next memories that quickly followed were almost all identical.

Every morning he was taken out of bed by Kreacher, who pushed him in the shower and forced porridge in front of him once he was seated at the table in the kitchen. When he was getting ready to go out, walking past the entrance mirror, he would look at himself and display a forced smile on his face. In this routine, he found some comfort. He was acting automatically, it was saving him from having to think too long. At work, his mind was occupied with the ongoing investigations. He got along well enough with his teammates, two middle-aged wizards who often invited him to come and watch quidditch at the pub, and who, when he refused, just said “ _ next time _ ”. There never was a next time.

On a large podium in the middle of the big square, just in front of Gringotts, Hammond was holding his annual speech, praising the hard work of magical law enforcement and the Department of Magical Justice in general. The shy sun of the month of march was shining on the colorful crowd gathered there to listen to him.

Several speakers took turns, none of whom lacked of praises when talking about the director of the Department. It was soon Harry’s turn. Slowly, a big smile plastered on his face, he went up on the stage, feeling the piercing gaze of the man of the moment scrutinizing his every actions. He knew there was no room for any mistakes. The auror stepped in the middle of the stage and, taking a deep breath, began his speech, amplified with the help of a  _ sonorus _ .

“Hello everyone, it is an honor to be here with you today…,” he started. Speeches were not his forte but he had done enough of them in the past ten years to know how to keep them as succinct and effective as possible. He touted the merits of the leaders of the Wizarding World, flattered Hammond, praised the actions of his colleagues, thanked the audience for their support. “... and so I hope we continue to serve you as best we can. Thanks everyone !” he concluded.

Amidst the applause, the flashes of the cameras crackled. He greeted the crowd and descended from the stage accompanied by the cheerful tunes of the brass band, his eyes blank, not hearing any of the compliments the wizards he encountered were throwing at him. To the disgust he felt, towards himself as well as towards Hammond, the crowd cheering him, the wizards who had spoken before him, the world in general, succeeded the anger, slowly obscuring his thoughts. He walked aimlessly through the crowded streets, clenching his fists with the overwhelming urge to destroy something.

Harry didn't know how long he had been walking for. When he became aware of his surroundings, he realized that he had left Diagon Alley and was on some quays by the Thames, the threatening shadow of the large silent warehouses standing out in the twilight. The air had cooled in the absence of the sun and he shivered. Looking around, he tried to find out more about his location, without success, mocked by the cries of gulls. He shrugged and got ready to apparate away.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of broken glass coming from behind one of the warehouses, as well as loud voices. His curiosity took over and he approached. Six men surrounded another one, various weapons in their hands ; iron bars, bottle shards, brass knuckles. The lone man had his fists raised in front of him, ready to strike, his features hardly discernible in the falling darkness. Without thinking, Harry approached, calling out, “Hey !”

They all turned their heads towards him. One of them pointed his iron bar at him. “You bett’r keep goin on ya way, bruv.”

“Six-to-one is hardly fair play !” Harry said, ignoring him. He kept on walking, spreading out his arms, and declared with confidence, “Why don’t we even things out a bit ?”

He didn't know what they were fighting for and he didn't care, he just wanted to get lost in the adrenaline of a good fight. They were obviously muggles, so he wouldn't use magic, and it was all the better.

While some attacked the man, others rushed towards Harry. He dodged a first fist aimed to his face and kicked his attacker right in the sternum. Quickly, his mind emptied and his body acted on his own.  _ Dodge _ ,  _ hit _ ,  _ stoop _ ,  _ kick _ ,  _ parry _ . Unconsciously, he had started to smile, giving free rein to his rage ; each impact of his fists against the flesh of one of the attackers was accompanied by a feeling of intense satisfaction.

Someone hit him with an iron bar in the upper back and he fell to the ground, followed by a kick in the face, making his ears ring for a few moments. When he tried to get up, he could see that the other man was in no better position. Their eyes met and the man swore in Russian. He grabbed something from his pocket and suddenly several men appeared, followed by flashes of red and green light. All of the assailants collapsed under Harry's wide eyes.  _ A wizard _ ?  _ Was he also a wizard  _ ?

The man stood up and nonchalantly dusted himself off, looking as if his face was not covered with wounds nor blood. He approached Harry and held out a hand to him. “ _ Spasibo _ my friend, it was a great fight !” he said with a smile, his eyes staring at him.

Confused, Harry grabbed his hand and stood up, holding on his own side with his arm.  _ Probably some bruising _ . His gaze went from the man in front of him, to those on the ground, then to the wizards who stood next to him.

“Aaah, I recognize you !” the man exclaimed, pointing to him. “You are the auror. The one who invited himself to the funeral a few months ago. You left a strong impression on Bogdan, you know that ?”

Harry looked at him without knowing what to say, baffled by the turn of events.

“You have courage, to run headfirst into such an unequal fight. Even if you could have used that.” He pointed the wand sticking out of the holster on the young man’s forearm, ready to slip into his hand at any moment, then resumed. “But I'm being rude. My name is Aslan !”

In the dim light of the  _ lumos _ coming from the other wizards wands, Harry watched him. He was middle-aged, dark hair gathered in with a rubber band, loose strands reaching his ears, a short beard and deep black eyes. His pleasant face was decorated with a scar sliding down his temple to which were added more or less recent bruises.

"Harry Potter," the auror replied automatically.

“Harry Potter ! Ah by  _ Rod _ !” he exclaimed, patting him on the shoulder. “Oy ! Piotr !” He gestured to one of the wizards, who approached him. He spoke to him in Russian and the man walked away before apparating with a  _ crack _ . Aslan turned his attention back to Harry, “The least I could do is to thank you, even though I’m not sure that your intervention was very useful ! Come on ! Let me offer you a drink !”

He grabbed the young man's arm and before he could even think “ _ what ? _ ” he apparated them.

The  _ Trans-Siberian _ was a restaurant renowned for the quality of its traditional Slavic cuisine and its impeccable service. The evening was coming to an end and, in the large empty room, the employees were beginning to clean up, folding up the tablecloths and raising the chairs on the tables. On the walls clad in elegant woodwork, paintings depicting typical landscapes surrounded by golden frames were hung. Under the subdued lighting of the sober chandeliers, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the purple carpet, Aslan and Harry were making their way to the back of the room, bypassing the round tables. When they arrived at a large wooden door, the Russian knocked three times.

“ _ Da  _ !” came the response from inside.

They entered. The smaller room was reserved for special events, such as family celebrations and business meetings. Decorated in the same way as the main room, with chests of drawers decorated with vases and samovars of all sizes, bringing out a more intimate atmosphere. Stacked tables and chairs were pushed against a wall, and only one table remained in the middle of the room, four comfortable armchairs positioned around it.

On one of them was sitting Bogdan Vasilyev, dressed in a crisp white shirt, the first buttons of the collar unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms and strands of his silver hair falling on his forehead. He looked up from his account book and watched them.

“Ah, Aslan.” He motioned for him to sit down and then set his clear gaze on Harry. "And your new friend, Harry Potter," he said in a more reserved tone.

A drink with Aslan had lead to another, then, without really realizing it, the auror had spent more and more evenings out in the company of the Russian, even if that sometimes ended in improvised brawls in dark alleys against strangers. Harry had even, once or twice, lent a hand to move goods, being careful not to ask what it was. He was enjoying himself and forgetting his pain for a short time, not to mention that denouncing their actions seemed futile when men like Hammond were the representatives of justice.

Ultimately, Vasilyev had wished to meet him, which brought him to the restaurant the man owned that night.

"Aslan is always talking about you, Potter," he said in an emotionless tone. “He tells anyone who wants to hear it that you saved his life.”

"I didn't know he was one of yours that day," Harry mumbled.

“He also tells me that you help him from time to time,” he continued, ignoring his comment. “Since our first meeting, you have intrigued me, Potter. You are an auror, you have a reputation that precedes you, symbol of righteousness and justice. And yet, you’re a friend of a criminal. What are you looking for ?”

He had no idea what to answer him. “... Nothing. I don't know. I’m just…”

Vasilyev suddenly asked, “Aleksandr. Did you really love him ?”

Hearing his name rekindled Harry’s grief, causing a sensation akin to a stab in the heart. “ _ Sasha _ . Yes. More than anything.”

“Did you know I was his father ?”

“He told me everything, I didn't hold it against him. After all, you don't choose the family you are born into.”

The criminal made a small amused sound. He paused, closing the notebook in front of him, and plunged his cold gaze into the eyes of the young man. “What would you do if you got your hands on those who murdered him ?” he asked slowly.

What would he do ? Hammond, Sternwood, their satisfied condescending faces appeared before his eyes, followed by Sasha's face, smiling, then replaced by his blue and distorted features. Pain, disgust, anger,  _ hatred _ ... Everything was mixing in his mind, insidiously infiltrating his thoughts day and night for the past weeks, months.  _ What would he do _ ? He looked up, supporting Vasilyev's gaze, and answered without any hesitation,

“I would kill them.”


	9. Chapter IX - Crescendo

“Are those his exact words ?”

Hermione could hardly believe it. Ron had returned from the hospital with a grim and pale face and had headed straight for the kitchen. He had taken a glass from the cupboard, then a bottle of firewhiskey, pouring himself a dose before putting it away. Once he was sitting down on the sofa next to her, he told her about the last memories he had witnessed. 

She abruptly got up. “Stupid, stupid, stupid !” she mumbled, biting her thumbnail while pacing the room.

“Who is stupid ?”

“Him, you, me ... Everyone !” she exclaimed, raising up her arms. “Because he didn't say anything, because we didn't notice anything …”

“It was a difficult time,” interrupted Ron. “We weren’t very available, between all the work at the Ministry, George's shop where I would help as soon as I had free time, your internship at the MACUSA …” He knew he was trying to find excuses ; he felt guilty, feeling like he had been a terrible friend.

“He should have talked to us, we’ve always been there for him when he needed us…” the young woman said, a hint of reproach in her tone.

“You know him, he sometimes has trouble expressing what he feels. By leaving us in the dark, he must have thought that he was protecting us. He thought he was doing the right thing.”

“Him and his bloody hero complex, as if he has to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.” She sighed, then suddenly exclaimed. “The theater !”

“What ?” the auror asked, confused.

“He had invited us to the theater, to see a play written by Shakespeare ... But what was it ?” She looked at him expectantly as if he knew the answer, snapping her thumb against her index finger repeatedly. Ron shook his head.

“King Lear! That was it ! King Lear ... We had to cancel at the last minute, I don't remember why.” She paused, lost in thought. 

Ron was spinning the now empty glass between his palms. She finally said, “I always wondered why he had looked so disappointed that time.”

"He had wanted to introduce Sasha to us," he whispered, a wave of sadness overwhelming him.

They had agreed to meet in a little muggle pub in Inverness. On a small stage in the main room, a group was playing a catchy traditional Scottish tune. In a corner at the back of the pub, under the soft orange light, Paul Briggs and Rosa Lopez were sitting down, facing Harry. Aslan was also there, he was the one whom had introduced them to each other, “You know Paul and Rosa, they work in the same division as you do in the Ministry. Bogdan thinks you should team up.”

Harry had indeed met them before but had never exchanged more than a few words with them, beyond a few civilities. Aslan excused himself, called by the challenge of a dart game on the other side of the room, leaving them alone. An _assurdiato_ protected them from eavesdroppers, allowing them to talk in peace.

“So, you two work for Bogdan Vasilyev ?” Harry asked skeptically.

Briggs, an arm resting on the back of the tartan bench seat he shared with Rosa, replied with a thick scottish accent, “Aye. Most of the time it's just passing on information about what's going on at the Ministry, a little bit of cleaning up of evidence when his men are involved in our ongoing investigations ... Nothing that exposes us too much.” Rosa nodded to confirm his words.

“How did you end up doing this ?”

Briggs raised his pint to his lips, took a sip of beer and put it down. “Me da. A muggle. He loved betting, he left us all his debts when he left us. I needed the money, Vasilyev offered me a job. My moral is flexible, I'm not caring too much, as long as the cash comes in,” he finished, shrugging his shoulders.

Harry turned his gaze to Rosa, she had her chin resting on her hand and with her free index finger she was tracing the edge of her glass. 

“I was born and raised in Mexico. When I was eighteen my brother and I came to England in a way that was, let's say ... not exactly legal. We were separated during the journey.” She paused, frowning briefly, before continuing. “My smuggler sold me and other girls to Hammond's men. I let you guess what kind of establishments they manage. One day, after a few months during which I thought I was going to die, Russians burst into the brothel. I owe my life to Bogdan Vasilyev, I swore to repay my debt.”

Only the music disturbed the minutes of silence that followed, before Briggs spoke again. “And ye, Potter, how did ye get involved with our good friend ?” he asked, leaning over the table.

Harry turned his head to the window and looked out. It was still early in the evening and the street was busy, many people were out enjoying the late spring’s mild weather and the animations of the city center. Him ?

"Oh, him," interrupted Aslan, who had returned, slipping next to Harry and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “You could say he’s part of the family.”

In the dark night, the rain was loudly tapping against the window panes with every whistling gusts. The sound of the storm was perceptible over the notes from Johann Sebastian Bach's Cello Suite number one. Bogdan Vasilyev, his evening wizard’s robes slightly undone for more comfort, was serving two glasses of whiskey on his desk.

“How long have you been working for me now, Potter ?” he asked, handing one of the glasses to the young man.

Harry accepted it, and began to walk slowly around the room, eyeing the books in the library, the pictures hanging on the walls, and finally looking at the photographs placed on the edge of the fireplace.

“Five months, more or less ... Since May I think,” he idly replied.

The fire was projecting a soft orange light while crackling, filling the room with pleasant warmth. The auror stopped for a long time on the photo of a beautiful young woman with brown hair and a cheerful face. She looked like Sasha.

"My little sister, Oksana," Vasilyev said. He opened the drawer of his desk, took out a letter, and handed it to Harry, who immediately recognized the writing. The Russian took off his outer robe, keeping only the shirt and pants he wore underneath, then sat down in one of the two armchairs in front of the fireplace.

“He wrote to me, a few weeks before ...,” he trailed off before continuing. “He had recognized David Hammond's name when you told him about the man, and he was aware I knew him and asked me for information. Despite the fact that we hadn't had any contact for years, he forgot his pride and wrote to me. He really had to care about you.”

Harry looked up from the letter and watched the older man ; he was contemplating the fire, thoughtful. The Russian suddenly asked. “What do you know about David Hammond's career ?”

“He grew up between England and Egypt, he started his career as an auror then continued in the Division of International Magical Cooperation, before returning to the Ministry of Justice of which he is now the director,” Harry recited with a tone full of disgust, while sitting down across from the Russian.

“That is right. He was stationed for years at the Eastern European office in Georgia to be precise. It was then that I first met him. I didn’t know he was an auror obviously. He infiltrated our organization in just a few months. I was young, I trusted him.” He took a sip of whiskey, the glow of flames dancing across his impassive face. “His goal there was to eliminate the magic branch of the Vory V Zakone. He almost succeeded,” he added, his eyes hardening, the memories visibly still intact. “Cruelly, he killed everyone who was in his way. Oksana, my little sister, was one of them. He tortured her before finishing her off personally.”

Harry listened to him carefully without making any sound.

“That day, when I hugged the still warm body of my _sestra_ , I swore to take revenge. I worked tirelessly, expanding my business to come and settle here in London, on his very land, with a single goal : to make him pay for what he did by all means necessary.”

Outside, the wind had increased, making the woodwork groan and the windows shake while the rain still pounded on the panes.

“He went after my son ... Partly because of you, but especially because of me. He would go after the rest of my family without any hesitation,” he continued, fixing his clear gaze on the young man. “Just as he will go after yours.”

Hammond's threats still echoed in the auror's head, haunting his dreams at night and his thoughts by day.

“You say you want to kill him, to ease your pain. It won't bring my son back, but we have this in common. We both loved him and we owe him to be avenged.”

Yes, more than anything, Harry wanted to see Hammond punished, by the justice of the Ministry or the one of the Russian, it did not matter as long as he obtained his revenge. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that with the man and his clique off the way, it would be possible to reform the Ministry. To change things for the better.

His gaze was burning with certainty ; _yes_ , if Hammond disappeared, surely it would make things easier for the future. Of course, they would have to consider a big cleaning, as he had told him, he was not on his own. Who else was involved ? Robards ? Shacklebolt himself ? And the other aurors of the Office, how would they know who was truly innocent ? Ron ? His tumultuous thoughts were interrupted by Vasilyev, who had risen up and was talking to his house elf. The creature nodded and then disappeared with a sharp _pop_.

“If you are truly sincere about your intentions, Harry Potter, then we will make a pact.”

With his hand, the Russian beckoned the young man to join him in the middle of the room and held out his bare arm. After rolling his sleeve up, Harry grabbed it, placing his hand in the middle of the other’s. At the same time, Aslan entered the room, without knocking, before closing the door behind him and approaching them. He nodded to them and raised his wand over their joined arms. Bogdan's eyes stared at the auror without blinking and Harry held his determined gaze.

“Bogdan Vasilyev, do you swear to kill those responsible for Aleksandr’s death, up to the last one, whatever the consequences are, and this even if you have to lose your own life doing so ?” the witness asked. 

“I swear.”

A small glowing chain came out of Aslan's wand and wrapped itself around their arms.

“Harry Potter, do you swear to kill those responsible for Aleksandr’s death, up to the last one, whatever the consequences are, and this even if you have to lose your own life doing so ?”

“ _Sasha_. Yes, I swear.”

Again, a filament of light sprang up and intertwined with the first one around their joined arms, marking their flesh. When the ritual was complete, they parted, and Harry watched his arm while Vasilyev lowered the sleeve of his shirt and then buttoned it up. After a short silence, the latter spoke. “Did you know that only his mother was allowed to call him Sasha ?” he asked with a wistful smile. “You are now part of the family, _syn_.”

 _Son_.

Standing on the silent bridge, he was watching the dark swirls of the Thames. He seemed oblivious to the bitter cold of January that was making his skin reddened.

A year. A year since Sasha had been torn from his life, leaving a huge void behind him. He had felt himself descend into darkness in the months that had followed. Sometimes he would go home, expecting to find the young man sitting down in his living room, a book in his hand, immersed in a play or poem. The silence that greeted him struck him violently and the pain engulfed him almost entirely, making him unable to do anything but curl up and cry for hours. At other times, anger took over and he destroyed everything he would come across, to Kreacher’s chagrin who would be trying to save everything he could from his master's ire.

Tonight however, desperation prevailed. As he stared at the tumultuous ripples of the river, he wondered if it wouldn't be better to join Sasha where he was, wherever it was. Let it all end now, let it all stop, forever. His obscure thoughts were interrupted by an almost inaudible whimper. He turned his head suddenly, straining to listen carefully, thinking it may have been a figment of his imagination. After a few minutes, he heard it again ; it was coming from below.

Harry quickly went down the large stone staircase and arrived on the quay passing under the arch of the bridge. In the darkness, the whimper sounded again. The young man approached slowly and, casting a quick _lumos_ , he distinguished a cardboard box posed against the wet stone floor.

Inside the box, a white puppy raised its head and looked at him, waving its little tail and yapping. It couldn't have been more than a few weeks old. Harry looked around, scrutinizing the deserted quays, wondering who could be cruel enough to abandon an innocent being in such a dismal place. He crouched down and held out his hand to the animal who sniffed it and began to lick it. The auror grabbed the dog and turned it over in one swift movement, holding it against his chest. He caught sight of a piece of paper covering the bottom of the cardboard. He brought his wand forward to light it up a bit and could make out couplets from La Belle Dame Sans Merci ; he had heard it enough times to know it by heart.

“... _I met a Lady in the meads_

_Full beautiful, a fairy's child ;_

_Her hair was long, her foot was light,_

_And her eyes were wild._

_I made a garland for her head,_

_And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ;_

_She looked at me as she did love,_

_And made sweet moan_ … ”

It had been one of Sasha’s favorite poems. A tear ran down his cheek and he looked down at the puppy he was still holding tightly against him, it was looking up at him, gently swinging its tail.

“Keats. You are Keats.”

Harry was pouring his third glass of whiskey of the evening, when the fireplace suddenly lit up and Aslan's head appeared amidst the green flames.

“Harry !” he called urgently. “You have to come at once to the restaurant !”

When the auror emerged from the hearth inside the _Trans-Siberian_ ’s office, Vasilyev was just passing through the door. He looked up at Harry, wiping his hands with a small towel which he tossed to one of his men when he was finished. With a hard look and a cold tone, he said, “I leave you the second one.”

Aslan dragged Harry out by the arm before he could ask for further explanations. They crossed the corridor, then the kitchen, and went out through the back door, the one used for deliveries. At the back of the backyard was a door leading to the two cold rooms. Only one of them was used to store food, they entered the other one.

The auror first distinguished three wizards who were standing with their backs to them. They turned their heads when they entered, one of the men was holding a steel bar in his hand. Then he saw that a fourth man was on his knees, his hands tied behind his back. He had brown hair and a few days old beard, his face was hard, marked with recent bruises and was filled with an air of defiance towards his jailers. 

Before Harry could open his mouth to explain that he didn’t partake in this aspect of the job, Aslan spoke, visibly controlling his anger. “Him and his little friend, they are the ones who killed Aleksandr on Hammond's orders.”

It took Harry a moment for his friend's words to make sense in his mind. The man on his knees had started to speak, with a mocking smile drawn on his lips. “... easy. He couldn't fight, we just had to tie his hands to stop him from moving. He even started to cry when we …” His tone was proud, as if he was boasting. 

Without warning, Harry grabbed the steel bar in the guard's hand and, before anyone could react, swung it and then hit the prisoner’s head with a fierce cry. The man immediately crumpled. His face distorted by rage, the young man raised his arm a second time before brutally striking again, then another, and again and again and again and again, still screaming in anger, pain and despair.

He finally stopped and backed away, his panting breath was the only sound in the small room. The smell of blood, among other things, reached him. He felt something run down his nose and cheeks and went to wipe his face with the back of his hand. However, before he could complete his gesture, his eyes fell on said hand. The iron bar fell to the ground with a metallic clatter. Slowly, Harry raised both his hands, palms up, and looked at them. They were covered in blood. Still panting, his eyes widened in horror ; _what had he done_?

The large tables had been set up in the garden, protected from the blistering sun by a massive beige tent, and a light breeze was pleasantly cooling down the afternoon air. Molly Weasley appeared with the dessert and Bill called the children, who were busy playing in the big garden, running and screaming with glee, chased by Ron and Georges who were trying to splash them with a watering spell. Keats was accompanying them, jumping and barking cheerfully.

“Victoire ! Teddy ! Dessert is served !”

“Hey ! What about us ?!” George exclaimed .

The children rushed under the tent and sat down at the table, Teddy took place next to Harry who was quietly sitting, his eyes closed, basking in the after-meal torpor. When he felt something touch his arm that was resting on the table, he turned his head and saw that the seven years old boy was fascinated by the watch he wore on his wrist, trying to turn it over to see it better.

“It’s beautiful ! What material is it made of ? How did you get it ? Do you know how a watch works ?” His questions followed one another too quickly for the young man to answer him. 

He just smiled and untied it to lend it to Teddy. “It belonged to Molly's brother. She gave it to me when I turned seventeen, eight years ago, in this very garden,” Harry said wistfully.

“Will I also get one when I am seventeen ?”

“Probably.”

Teddy turned the watch upside down before delicately tracing the edges with his fingertips. He turned around to show it to Victoire. While the children admired the object, Harry watched them fondly, then turned his attention to the rest of the crowd. The whole Weasley family had gathered at the Burrow for a big meal, as it happened regularly, although less and less frequently in recent years because of everyone's obligations. Of course, Andromeda, Teddy and Harry were always invited, being undoubtedly part of the family.

A little further away, Molly was berating Ron and Georges who had tried to cut the cake but only succeeded in committing a carnage. Hermione was in the middle of a discussion with Charlie and Ginny, who was resting between two league games ; the Holyhead Harpies were in a good position to win the cup this season. Arthur was explaining to Bill what the best way to get gnomes out of his garden while Fleur listened absently, chin resting on her hand. 

Andromeda sat down next to Harry, handing out dessert plates to the children and to the young man who thanked her. Molly suddenly called her and she left before she could speak to him. Everyone seemed perfectly happy and Harry felt his heart double in size at the sight of those he loved gathered here.

However, slowly, slyly, a feeling of anxiety pervaded his thoughts. What if they found out what he was doing for Vasilyev ? How would they react ? _No_ ... It was not the right question. What if Hammond went after them ? Everything he did was to protect them, for their own good. Yes. For Teddy and for Andromeda. For the Weasleys. Ron and Hermione. He wouldn't let anything happen to them. He and Bogdan would make sure of it, they would finish what they had started, and they would bring justice to all those who had been wronged by Hammond and his men.


	10. Chapter X - Affannato

He was running, each of his steps hitting the asphalt resounding loudly in the deserted street. He was running, trying to escape them, panic forcing him to accelerate. They were behind him, he could feel them, almost touching him, trying to grab him, hold him back, they wanted to _hurt_ him. Suddenly, the ground fell under his feet and he found himself underwater, fully submerged. Hands, more and more of them, grabbed his legs and drew him deeper into the darkness. He was struggling with all his might, and when he screamed, water rushed into his mouth and his lungs, suffocating him, as the cadaverous features of the inferi appeared in front of him. Then _his_ face arised from the depths and …

… Ron suddenly woke up, screaming, drenched in sweat, his heart racing.

“Ron ?!” Hermione asked in a half-sleepy voice, straightening up next to him.

He sat up hurriedly on the edge of the bed, running his hands over his sweaty face. “A nightmare ... just a ... nightmare …” he reassured her, trying to get his breathing under control.

She shifted closer to him, kneeling in the bed, and put her hand on his shoulder, “You haven't had any in years.”

“You’re right, but I don't think it's really mine, Mione…” he said looking at her.

“You mean… Harry’s ?”

“There were inferi. I’ve never seen one, he did ... I felt totally trapped, I thought I was going to …” He did not finish his sentence, an uncontrollable shudder going through him at the memory of the creatures' faces. The young woman pressed herself a little closer against him. After a few breaths, he resumed, “What he feels in his memories, what _I feel_ ... I don't know how long I can keep doing it, Hermione. His thoughts feel like they are tinged with a veil …”

“What do you mean ?” she asked, frowning.

“I don't know how to explain it, it's like his way of thinking is becoming less and less rational ... And that terrifies me.”

Harry was finishing dressing up, facing the full-length mirror in his bedroom. Bogdan had insisted that he’d wear sober but elegant three-piece suits, tailor-made, when he was personally representing the Russian in his "business". After choosing a classic steel blue set, he put on an elegant black coat, one hundred percent cashmere, which came just above his knees. With his hair neatly combed back and his scar concealed by a glamour spell, his reflection seemed almost foreign to him, appearing older than his twenty-five years.

Taking a quick detour to the bathroom, he opened a small cupboard and pulled out a vial containing a sight potion, which he drank in one gulp, the infamous taste causing him to gag a little. The potion corrected his sight for a limited period of twelve hours ; although he still preferred to wear his glasses rather than drink it every day. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he went down the stairs and headed for the fireplace.

On the ground floor, none of the lights were on. Every night, whether he went out or not, he made sure that the house was plunged into darkness at a fixed time, asking Kreacher to turn off the lights if he was away. He never knew who could watch him and he didn't want to arouse suspicion around him, never mind if people thought he had no life, it was always better than reality. Using the floo network, he appeared in the office of the _Trans-Siberian_ , and from there he apparated to his final destination.

It was one of Vasilyev's buildings, still under construction, located on the edge of the capital. The whole neighborhood was a huge construction site, completely deserted at night, and it was the ideal location to take care of certain business in complete discretion.

He appeared directly on the desired floor, crossing the future corridors still made entirely of concrete and metal bars, in which the sound of his black oxfords resounded, and approached a "room". From the doorway, he watched the scene in front of him.

A man was tied to a chair, lit by a worklight directly in front of him, forcing him to squint to protect himself. Behind him, the absence of walls offered a view of the city in the distance, and the artificial lights illuminated the night, the noise of traffic providing a continuous background sound. Around him were four wizards, including Aslan, who smiled slightly when he saw Harry.

The man, who had obviously been a little roughed up, was one of David Hammond's private secretaries, personally representing his superior in some of his affairs outside of the Department of Justice when he was unavailable. His name was Simon Brewster, and he was an invaluable source of information both on the activities of the Director of the Ministry of Justice and on his contacts. However his loyalty seemed to override his survival instinct and he was refusing to speak ; Bogdan had asked Harry to get something from him.

The auror took a deep breath in. He walked slowly into the room and approached the table located a little behind the huge lamp ; on it the wizards had deposited the personal effects of their prisoner. Brewster, who had just spotted him, watched his movements carefully.

Harry grabbed a dark leather wallet lying there, and, without saying a word, his face completely expressionless, he began to rummage through it, without really knowing what he was looking for, until he took out a photo. In his chair, the man stiffened almost imperceptibly. Dropping the wallet on the table, the young man approached him, holding the piece of glossy paper between his fingers. “Is this your wife ?” he asked, his tone feigning curiosity.

He watched the captive man ; in his forties, bald head, paunchy, his crumpled lilac shirt stained with blood, and _was that tomato sauce_?

“What is she doing with a guy like you ?” He crouched in front of him, flicking his eyes first on the photo and then on Brewster, and said with a smile, although without any joy. “You know what, maybe I should pay her a little visit.”

The man remained silent but he tightened his hands into clenched fists, making his joints go white.

“I would tell her that I found this wallet on the ground,” Harry continued. “As a good Samaritan I would bring it back to her. She might invite me to come in, have a drink to refresh myself …”

Suddenly the man exclaimed, furious, “Don't you dare hurt her !”

“Hurt her ?” the auror replied with an air of false surprise. “Oh, but I wouldn't hurt her.” He leaned closer to the man, whispering into his ear, still smiling, “If you behave, I could even show you my memories afterwards.”

He got up, and, turning on his heel, slowly left the room. Without looking back, he brandished the photo he was holding between his index and middle fingers and said, “I’m keepin this, as a souvenir.”

He had barely taken a few steps down the hall, raising his face to the sky and exhaling slowly, when the man shouted, “Wait ! Come back ! I’ll tell you what you want to know !’

Once Brewster was sitting at the table, Harry placed sheets of paper and a pen in front of him, and said coolly, “You write here the names and the weaknesses of Hammond’s men. You forget one or you lie, and you and your whole family will be killed in cold blood. Do you understand ?”

Deep down within himself, a small voice was crying out that he was no better than the man in question or even Sternwood. Every day it became easier for him to ignore it, until he completely silenced it.

He was hurrying up the long gray corridor which was leading to Bogdan’s office in this muggle business building. He was late, which in itself was not unusual, but the cause of his tardiness was. On this beautiful May morning, Hermione had just given birth to their daughter, hers and Ron’s, little Rose, and Harry had stopped by St Mungo to meet her before his meeting with the Russian.

As he walked briskly, he saw a man sitting in one of the chairs in the hallway. Dressed in a plain gray suit, visibly cheap, he was reading a magazine selected from those available on a small table next to him. He had a handsome face with a large nose, dark almond-shaped eyes, dark brown hair parted on the side and reaching just above his ears.

Still staring at him, Harry collided with a small metal chest of drawers stuck against the wall. The bump knocked a vase over, and it smashed into the gray carpet with a crash, startling the man who looked up at him curiously while he tried to put all the broken pieces of ceramic back on the furniture.

The Auror rose quickly, embarrassed, and without looking back, rushed to Bogdan's office, a few meters away. He entered without knocking and quickly closed the door, leaning his back against it with a sigh. As discreetly as possible, he tried to spread the blinds obstructing the large windows in the room to observe the corridor.

“Is something the matter, Harry ?” Vasilyev asked, sitting behind his modern gray wooden desk.

“There is a man waiting in the corridor, who is he ?”

“My new prosecutor. Harvey Crown is retiring, I need someone else to handle muggle affairs,” he replied simply. “We have an appointment with him at eleven o'clock.”

Harry dropped the blind and began pacing the room, hands in his pockets, pausing in front of the window to admire the view of the modern buildings nearby. “He’s early, it's a quarter to eleven.”

“And you should have been there at ten o'clock sharp,” the Russian replied without missing a beat.

“I had an emergency early this morning, and I had to go back home to change clothes,” Harry explained, before nodding toward the hall.

“Why is he ending up working for you, Bogdan ?”

“Crown referred him. Tell him to com in.”

Harry opened the door and when the man looked up he motioned for him to enter the office. They shook hands and Bogdan invited him to sit, signaling Harry to take his seat as well. 

The Russian then grabbed a document from his desk and began to read, “Jae-son Lee, born in Seoul in nineteen hundred and seventy-seven, then studied law at Cambridge, major of promotion.” he said before looking up and staring at Lee. “A flawless career so far. It gets complicated after that, a first job at New Scotland Yard, unfortunately they don’t retain you. Then followed a succession of professional failures, before Harvey Crown took you under his wing. Any particular reason ?”

Lee seemed to shrink in his chair under Vasilyev’s questioning gaze. He answered, “Let's say ... Let’s say that I visit bookmakers a little too regularly and it was not to the taste of my employers .... My debts have accumulated and …”

“Who do you owe money to ?” Harry suddenly asked.

“Oh er ... Brickwall ?”

Harry winced ; he had heard of Brickwall's reputation. Lee's face displayed a similar expression.

“I can talk to Brickwall,” Vasilyev said, crossing his hands on his desk. “If you agree to work for me, we may find a way to settle your debts. Crown personally referred you, did he tell you what our activities were ?”

“He has said enough. You are part of the Vory v Zakone. I also know that you are ... Well, that you are magicians ?” he said hesitantly, his gaze shifting from Harry to Bogdan.

“We are _wizards_ , yes. How do you know that ?” the latter asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Harvey told me a little bit about it, he warned me not to be surprised. And part of my uncle's wife family is magical. I think. I don't really have contact with them.”

“Is this going to be a problem ? Harry asked.

“No, absolutely not,” he replied eagerly.

“If you work for us, you and I will often be dealing together,” the auror said, before explaining to him how the DIVCO worked.

Shortly after, Vasilyev stood up, signaling the end of their interview, “Very well,” he said, shaking his hand. “Can I count on you, Lee ?”

“You can, Mr. Vasilyev.”

Deep inside the big misty forest, the carpet of dead leaves dampened their steps, and they could only hear the sound of condensed water drops falling from the bleak foliage and crashing into the ground. The heady scent of wet earth and decaying plant debris floated in the humid air. Advancing cautiously, Harry, Paul and Aslan, wands in hand, scanned their surroundings for the slightest movement.

The two Aurors were dressed similarly, cargo pants and warm jackets, ankle boots, all of it black. Aslan, on the other hand, had opted for a different style, looking more like an English lord on a hunting trip : a dark green tweed cap and jacket, and brown pants with tall dark leather boots.

A pheasant abruptly flew away at their approach before disappearing into the bushes, making them jump.

“He's a muggle, he couldn't have gone far,” Aslan whispered nonchalantly.

“If you had watched him as you were supposed to, we wouldn't be trudging through the woods,” Briggs hissed low.

“The call of nature, my friend, cannot be resisted.”

The cracking sound of a broken branch resonated a little further in the forest. They all looked at each other and quickly walked towards the source of the noise.

They finally saw him, the man they had been chasing for long minutes, desperately trying to escape from them. Briggs raised his wand and cast a spell, deliberately missing his target, the red light crashing into a trunk just above him.

“Where are you going like this, my friend ? Come back !” Aslan said in an almost friendly tone.

Harry, his face expressionless, cast a binding curse on the fugitive's legs. He collapsed to the ground and frantically tried to free himself from his invisible bonds. His gray suit was now covered with earth and various plants, his dyed hair with graying roots was pressed against his forehead with sweat and humidity. Terror distorted the features of his soiled face.

The three wizards approached ; he let himself fall on his back, ceasing to struggle and gave a desperate cry, “Why are you doing this ?! What do you want from me ?!”

Briggs crouched beside him, pulled a photograph from the inside pocket of his jacket and placed it in front of the man's eyes. “Do you recognize that ? Mh ?”

“No !” the man shouted, shaking his head desperately.

“But isn’t it you in this picture ?” Briggs asked, as if he were talking to a young child, pointing to someone in the photo.

“In deep discussion with one of our old acquaintances, Claudius Sternwood,” Harry said, stepping forward. He tilted his head slightly to the side before continuing. “I wonder what you two could have been talking about.”

“I didn't tell him anything, I swear ! This is not what you think !”

“So one of our warehouses seized by the Ministry, it’s only a pure coincidence ? Just like the arrest of our men in Birmingham ? Aslan asked with false naivety.

“I’m begging you ! Tell Vasilyev that I …”

“You know what I think, Badland ?” Harry interrupted him. “I think you're lying to us, that you sold information to Hammond. And do you know what we do to traitors ?”

A smile slowly appeared on the auror's face, his previously cold eyes widened slightly, his dilated pupils betraying the excitement he was feeling, the pleasure of seeing this man wiggle with terror at his feet, of being able to make him pay for his betrayal. He raised his wand and the echo of the man's scream reverberated in the forest.

In the huge arena, the crowd's shouts rang out, echoing in the night. The ground trembled under the impact of the hooves of the ten gigantic Abraxans galloping on the oval track. It was soon the last lap and Harry could watch Lee, sitting on the edge of his seat, his fists clenched so tight his joints were going white, fully focused on the race in front of him.

The winged alezan he had bet on, _Tenor of the Pommel_ , crossed the finish line with a stride ahead of his competitors and cheers filled the air. Lee stood up quickly, arms raised, fists still clenched, and turned on himself with a joyful expression on his face, making Harry smile in turn. He had invited him to attend the abraxan race, albeit illegal, and ignoring the fact that the prosecutor was a muggle and did not exactly belong here.

Over the past year, being in frequent contact with work and their involvement with Vasilyev, Harry and Lee had quickly become friends. The young auror appreciated the feeling of lightness that he felt in the company of the older man, making him forget for a moment the harshness of his daily life.

Leaving the arena, Lee went to get his winnings while Harry decided to wait for him outside the entrance. As he watched the street in which the crowd happily dissipated, a man jostled him violently.

“Hey ! Look where you're going, you twat !” he exclaimed without thinking.

The man, two heads taller than him and twice as muscular, looked at him with a wicked look, visibly tipsy. “Did you say something, midget ?” He paused, staring at Harry with insistence. “Wait a minute ... I recognize you, you’re the auror who arrested my brother a few years ago !”

“I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh yeah it’s you, with the scar and everything. It's really perfect, you know. Without your friends to help you out, I'm going to be able to give you a good beating tonight.”

“It’s clear that _one_ of us has made a mistake and decided to waste the _other_ 's precious time. Why don't you use your little legs to kindly fuck off ?”

“I’m going to enjoy hurting you, little man !” the man exclaimed, cracking the joints of his fingers.

“Just talking to you is hurting me !”

Harry was ready to come to blows when six men suddenly appeared alongside the bully. After a second of hesitation, he looked up over their shoulders and let out surprised gasp. They all turned their heads back in the same movement to try to see what he was looking at. He took advantage of their distraction to turn around and start running as fast as he could, passing in front of Lee who was coming back from the bookie’s place, pocketing his money. The older man looked at him in confusion.

“Jae-son ! Run ! Quick, run !!” Harry yelled, without stopping.

They passed along the large empty buildings of the industrial zone in which the arena had been installed. Behind them, the auror could hear the rapid steps of the other men chasing them sounding in the night, as well as their angry shouts. It typically reminded him of the evenings spent with Aslan. Merlin, he had become just like Russian. Suddenly he saw a small back alley, hidden between two factories, and rushed in, grabbing Lee's arm who crashed against him, cut in his tracks.

Panting, they remained as still and silent as possible, waiting for their pursuers to pass their way. Once the danger was gone, Lee pulled back slightly and rested his head on Harry's shoulder, one of his arms against the wall just next to his head.

“Bloody hell, you want my death ! I never signed for that,” he said.

“Thirty years old is already a good age,” Harry replied ironically, trying to catch his breath.

He dropped his head back against the brick wall and he closed his eyes and laughed. He hadn't laughed like this for so long. His friend straightened up and watched him, also smiling. Moments later, Harry opened his eyes and their gazes met. In the darkness of his thoughts almost engulfing him completely, Lee's presence appeared to him like an outstretched hand, life-saving and luminous, wrapping around his and preventing him from sinking completely. Without saying a word, the auror put his hand to the prosecutor's neck and drew his face to him, sealing his lips against his.


	11. Chapter XI - Coda

Ron was sitting by the bed, watching the relaxed face of the sleeping man.

“It’s almost the thirty-first, Harry,” he said, his throat feeling tight. “You're going to be twenty-eight. For all these years, I thought I knew you, but now I realize how wrong I was.” He paused, lowering his head, taking a long breath, before straightening up and returning his gaze to the patient. “I don't know if you’ll forgive me. I don't know if _I_ could forgive _you_ ... Even if nothing will be the way it was before, I just want you to wake up, with all my heart.”

Harry was hurrying home in the pouring rain, avoiding pedestrians on the crowded sidewalk, and he couldn't help but rehash in his mind the latest news from Aslan.

An entire shipment of potions had vanished, with no suspect identified. They had lost three of their men, their corpses had been found on the banks of the Thames by muggle police. What worried auror the most was the fact that it was already the fourth time in a short time that such an event had occurred ; it couldn't be a coincidence. He knew that Hammond was after Vasilyev's organization and was ready to do anything to harm it ; whether by using legal means by sending his aurors after them, or even more unofficial, using his own contacts in the world of organized crime.

On their part, attempts to attack the empire of their powerful enemy had so far ended in mixed successes and even stinging failures.

He finally arrived at Grimmauld Place, just before nightfall, and hastened to go into the house. Closing the door, he took off his coat and then his scarf, hanging them in the hall to dry them. The pleasant warmth of the interior enveloped him and he approached the living room, from where he could hear the sound of the TV coming.

Sitting on the couch, Lee and Kreacher were captivated by the small screen, losing no detail from the day's episode of _Coronation Street_ , Keats peacefully asleep on the carpet at their feet. The house elf had had a hard time to accept the presence of the prosecutor in the house until the latter introduced him to the oldest soap opera on British television. Ever since, Kreacher never missed a single episode, interrupting his household chores if he had to in order to watch it.

Harry slumped inelegantly on the couch next to Lee. “What is that ?” he asked suddenly, touching a cardboard box placed on the ground with his foot.

“A package sent by my mother,” Lee replied, without taking his eyes off the screen.

Harry leaned over and started rummaging through it. Inside, he found Korean food, books, a set of steel chopsticks and an envelope ; curious and a little bit bored, he opened it. “And that ?”

Lee looked at him, then the photos in his hands. His eyes widened and he tried to take them back, Harry holding them out of his reach.

“It's nothing ! It's just ... My mom is trying to convince me to get married. With each package, she sends me photos of potential brides …”

“Oh ... Didn't you tell her ? She may be disappointed ... Although I can still send her pictures of me.”

“Do this and you’ll end up at the bottom of the Thames.”

On the other side of the sofa, the elf was hitting his head on the armrest of the sofa. “The master should not be harmed, even if he prevents Kreacher from watching Coronation Street,” he repeated.

“It's alright, Kreacher, stop it. I'm leaving,” Harry said, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

Harry was standing in front of the first floor office window, completely naked in the dark. His eyes were frantically scanning the street for the slightest suspicious movement. He knew they were watching him, he could feel their eyes, trying to penetrate his secrets. They wanted to wrong him, all of them, the Death Eaters, Hammond, Voldemort, the aurors of the Office who didn't trust him, he could see it in their eyes every time they looked at him, Sternwood and his annoying mustache, all as they were, all of them, all of them, _every single one of them_.

“Harry ?” The floor creaked under Lee's feet, who approached him slowly before placing a hesitant hand on his arm. “What are you doing ? Is everything alright ?” he asked, concerned.

He did not answer him, continuing to watch the deserted street, the orange glow of the lampposts reflecting on his face. Gently, patiently, Lee managed to bring him back to his room and lay him down, slipping under the covers next to him and hugging him while repeating that there was no one outside, that he was safe, that everything would be fine.

“I really gotta go, I’m already late enough as it is ! I’ll get back to you to tell you the day for the dinner !”

“You do that !”

Ron waved at him and left the office. Harry straightened up in his chair, dropping his smile, and he sighed, running a hand over his face. He was exhausted, having trouble falling asleep at night when he was not busy dealing with Bogdan's problems. Their men fell like flies and they relentlessly tracked possible moles within the organization.

He thought about Ron's proposal. A dinner ? When was the last time they had exchanged more than three sentences ? No matter how he searched his memory, nothing came to his mind. His phone vibrated and he took it out of his pocket, flipping it open. He had a message from Lee.

“ _Smthrs arestd last nite. ok handov 4 2day_ ”

Merlin, no need for code when he wrote, it was already pretty incomprehensible like that. Wilbur Smithers, potions dealer , arrested on several occasions, was a possible annoying witness and Bogdan wanted to discreetly get rid of them, but they had lost track of him a few days earlier.

He was closing his phone just as Paul entered the office. Seeing his thoughtful expression, the latter asked, “Something happened ?”

“Smithers was arrested last night by muggle police. Jae-son signed the transfer agreement for this afternoon.”

“Whose transfer ?” Rosa asked, just coming in, closing the door behind her. She put her bag on her desk and started to work around the little coffee pot on a table against one of the walls in the room.

“Our good friend Smithers,” replied Briggs, passing her the filters at the top of the cabinet.

“We need to know which team has been designated to deal with it. I'm also going to call Aslan, tell him to come back here with the necessities.”

They had a witness extraction to prepare.

At 1:00 p.m. Harry returned from his excursion to the atrium. At this hour, many workers were still on a lunch break, including Patricia, the secretary of the DIVCO, who guarded the place like a cerberus armed with small cookies.

“Proudfoot and his team ?” he asked while holding the door open behind him before closing it a few seconds later.

“Out of the way. They should have a good nap until tonight with the hippogriff dose of sedative they took with their tea,” replied Briggs with a smile.

Gradually, the blurred contours of Aslan and two other men, Piotr and Sven, began to appear. Harry had gone to look for them in the hall to guide them discreetly to the office. Except that they looked exactly like Harry, Paul and Rosa. 

“Merlin, there's no denying it, your polyjuice potion is pretty damn effective,” Rosa said, looking impressed.

“Russian Auror Bureau quality ! Unbeatable duration of action, the recipe is top secret ! We've been looking like you for the past two days now, since the last mission, we might as well continue to use it. Especially since these were the last vials in the stockroom, we don't know when the next load will arrive.”

“Too bad, that would have been useful,” Harry commented.

“On the other hand, we have heaps of invisibility potion in stock, inimitable as well,” added the Russian, taking three vials from his pocket.

Briggs grabbed one, “ _Made in Chernobyl_?!”

“And it comes with amazing Russian humor !”

At 2:00 p.m., after rehearsing the operation and swallowing their dose of invisibility potion, Harry, Rosa and Paul sneaked out of the Ministry. In their office, their three exact replicas sat down quietly, ready to play their roles during the afternoon. Piotr was quite happy with being Rosa's doppelganger, sharing her love for telenovelas, which he said would make him more believable. Aslan was impersonating Harry and Sven, Paul.

Once their black Honda Civic -vehicle that could blend easily in the midst of the London traffic- was parked in front of the police station, Harry looked at his watch. It was three o'clock, they were right on time. He sighed and sent a quick message to Aslan on his phone to ask if everything was going well. Paul and Rosa had already gotten out of the car by the time he flipped his phone off, arguing over who was the best beater on the English quidditch team this season. He followed them, running a hand through his hair as he closed the car door, surprised by the heat of the afternoon air.

They entered the pleasantly air-conditioned police station hall and immediately spotted Lee, who motioned for them to approach. “Smithers is in cell number three,” he told them. Then handing a folder to Paul, he added, “Here is the transfer order, if anyone asks you questions.”

“No problem, Lee, this ain’t our first rodeo,” replied the auror, winking at him.

The prosecutor held Harry by the arm before he could follow his teammates. “You see the man in the black suit over there,” he whispered, “the conspicuous Man In Black ?”

“Mmh.”

“I'm pretty sure he's one of your aurors.”

Harry watched him discreetly. Indeed, the man in question seemed completely out of his element in the midst of the muggle police officers and detectives, standing stiff as a ramrod and glancing furtively at them.

“We can’t let him remember us. Signal him to join you in your office,” he coldly said.

The vehicle was speeding through the streets of the capital, Smithers sweating profusely between Paul and Rosa in the back seat.

“Did you know there was an auror at the station, Wilbur ?” Harry casually asked, glancing at him in the rear view mirror.

“What ? I ... No ! I didn’t know !”

He had seemed extremely surprised to see them back at the precinct, even more so when they had pushed him into the car. Maybe it was true. Maybe he really didn’t expect Vasilyev to go after him. Or perhaps he was an informer for the aurors.

Harry finally stopped and cut the engine of the Honda. They were near a bridge, on one of the deserted banks of the Thames, out of sight. They brought out Smithers, Paul and Rosa holding their wands pointed at him.

“I’m asking nicely again, are you really sure you didn’t say anything, Smithers ?” the young auror repeated.

“No ! I swear ! They arrested me for muggle drug dealing, it had nothing to do with Mister Vasilyev ! They didn't ask me anything about him !” He was sweating profusely, fidgeting, visibly panicked.

“What was he doing there, this auror then ?” Briggs intervened.

“Please ! I don't know, I swear. Maybe he was watching someone else, maybe …”

He didn't have time to finish his sentence. Harry had slipped behind him while grabbing his chin and forehead, and with a quick gesture, snapped his neck. The man collapsed, instantly dead.

“He was starting to get on my nerves with his whining,” he offered for only explanation to his teammates.

He turned around and opened his phone, looking for Aslan's name in his contacts. The man picked up after three rings.

“Aslan ? Is everything alright ?”

“ _Da_ !” a voice similar to his replied. “There was just your friend, the auror, Weasley, who passed by like a fury. I didn't know what he wanted …”

“You must leave the Ministry immediately, the three of you. I have a bad feeling,” still on the phone, he looked up at Paul and Rosa, who were also listening to the conversation. “I think the aurors may have identified us.”

Vasilyev did not fully trust Dimitri Loujin. He had asked Harry to represent him during the deal, in order to monitor the Georgian, whom he suspected of wanting to take over the arms trafficking market in his own name.

Aslan was not available that evening, so he had asked Paul and Rosa to come with him, which he rarely did for this type of mission. Especially since he _knew_ the aurors suspected them. In the weeks following Smithers' elimination, they had kept a low profile, keeping their contacts strictly professional, continuously staying on their guard.

Harry still went out at night, via the floo network. His tactic of turning off all the lights at 9:00 p.m. seemed convincing, if Hermione's desperate attempts to find someone for him or rumors about him and his lack of social life circulating in the office were to be considered evidence.

In the large hangar number five in the port of Tilbury, he was feeling even more anxious than usual, standing with his back straight, sweating, looking nervously around him, on the lookout for the slightest movement. In front of him, Loujin offered his buyer to hold one of the weapons he wanted to sell him, each men were surrounded by their personal guards.

Suddenly, he saw Rosa make an almost imperceptible hand gesture to him. The aurors were here. Moments later, chaos broke out inside the tall building.

He had just sent the young woman to the ground and approached her to kick her in the jaw before she could make the slightest move. He was furious, although he was keeping a straight face. The aurors, acting under Hammond's orders, dared to go after them ? He would make them all pay until the last one. He turned around, feeling the sweat running down his forehead and cheeks, and his gaze met the one of another agent, who was getting up with difficulty a few meters from him.

_Ron_ ? His eyes widened slightly. What was he also doing there ? Did he work for Hammond ? Of course, all of the aurors in the Office were under his thumb. His friend was not different, he was like them, obediently following his orders, and Sternwood’s. Ron stared at him, gasping, clear misunderstanding etched on his face, and he held his gaze.

“Harry !” Briggs called him from across the hangar, the emergency portkey in hand, joined moments later by Rosa.

He had to get out of here, he couldn't let himself be captured, not here, not now, not by them. The auror blocked its path. He raised his wand, a curse on the tip of his tongue, when he hesitated for a second. _Ron_ , it was Ron, his best friend, his brother in arms, he couldn't ... Someone threw themselves violently at his side, throwing him to the ground, his wand escaping from his hands. _It was over_ , _he had lost_.

Sitting in his chair, he watched the door close behind Ron. His words still echoed in his head. _How can you work for this monster_ ? Bogdan was not a monster. The monster was at the very heart of the Ministry. Harry set his dark gaze on the two-way mirror in front of him. They wanted answers ? He would make sure they got nothing from him. On his forearm, he could feel the phantom burning of the unbreakable vow he had sworn to Vasilyev. _Whatever the consequences are_. He had to get out of here, he would kill them all if he had to.

How long had he been there ? He glanced at his wrist before remembering that he had lent his watch to Lee, who had lost his a few days earlier. He sighed, moving his head from side to side, then up and down, trying to relax his aching muscles. Something was making him feel uncomfortable, the silence was too heavy, why wasn’t anyone coming to question him ?

Suddenly the door opened and he turned his head to the newcomer before freezing. Sternwood stood before him, disheveled, having visibly been alerted urgently of Harry’s presence in the Ministry and of his potential involvement with Vasilyev.

“So the rumors were true, Potter ? Are you really working for this garbage coming from the East ?”

“You should be careful who you’re calling garbage, Sternwood, you risk insulting yourself,” Harry retorted.

“You dare to spit on the mercy that Director Hammond showed you ?”

“Mercy ? _Mercy_ ?” the young man repeated with a sarcastic laugh, bordering on hysteria. His eyes were burning with hatred and he stared at his interlocutor. “You can tell your master where he can shove his mercy !”

Abruptly, Sternwood pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry. 

“I doubt it would be admissible in court, Sternwood.”

“You didn’t think you’d make it to court, Potter ? Do you really think we're gonna give you a chance to tell them anything ?”

Harry hurriedly stood up, his chair falling to the floor with a crash, and at the same time the undersecretary cast his curse. 

“ _Mens Carcerio_ !”

The jet of white light hit him straight in the chest and he fell to his knees. An alarm sounded in the hallways. Harry raised his head and he could see Sternwood running away. Trying to stand up, he was struck by an intense wave of pain, sweeping through his whole body and he collapsed, biting his tongue as he hit the ground. His whole body was burning, the pain was completely obscuring his thoughts, his clenched jaws wouldn't allow him to cry out and the metallic tang of blood was filling his mouth.

“Harry ! Harry ! Look at me !” a familiar voice shouted.

He met Ron's eyes and tried to tell him “ _Mens Carcerio_ ” “ _Sternwood_ ” but the sounds were stuck in his throat, refusing to come out. His eyesight blurred and suddenly everything stopped.

Everything around him was white. A huge empty space, white and completely silent. Ron turned his head, and he saw him, a few steps away from him, his gaze on a horizon he seemed to be the only one to perceive, ignoring him completely.

He called out to him, reaching for him as if to touch him. Harry turned his head, his gaze devoid of the slightest trace of heat plunging into his, preventing him from moving.

“Have you satisfied your curiosity ?” his deep voice sounded harshly.

“Harry ! It wasn't ... It was to help you ! To find out what curse had been used against you, to be able to wake you up.” He stopped talking for a moment, before resuming, “I am sorry. I truly am. Everything you've been through, your pain, ... I can't say I don't condemn your actions, but I do understand.”

The young man did not answer, continuing to stare at him.

“Listen, it's still possible to stop there, to …”

“If you say the words ‘get back on the right path’, I swear to kill you with my own hands, Ron,” he coldly said.

Ron didn’t know what to answer him, feeling completely distraught. Harry slowly advanced towards him, his posture similar to a predator scrutinizing his prey. 

“Do you really think, after seeing my memories, that I will let them get away with it ? That I will meekly surrender, without putting on a fight ?” He leaned over to whisper in Ron’s ear. “I think it's time for you to leave now, auror.”

He felt like he was being thrown into a void and falling for a long time before he hit the ground painfully and lost consciousness.


	12. Chapter XII - Requiem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter twelve, the last chapter of this story which I enjoyed writing and which I hope some of you enjoyed! The next chapter will be the epilogue, just to conclude this story as it should be...  
> For this chapter, I'm going to recommend several songs that I listened to while writing:  
>  Carmina Burana: fortune plango vulnera  
>  Sonata n°14 Beethoven 1st movement  
>  the Quattro Stagioni, estate presto (Vivaldi's 4 seasons)  
>  Mozart's Dies Irae Requiem AND Verdi's --> for action scenes  
>  Mozart's Lacrimosa
> 
> On that note, happy reading! ( ᐛ )و

When Ron came to, he was lying in one of the familiar white beds of St Mungo. He straightened up quickly, triggering a feeling of vertigo, and held his head while waiting for it to pass.

“Weasley ! Take it easy,” Padma told him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“What happened ?” he blurted. “How long…”

“You lost consciousness at the end of the last memory, no longer than a couple minutes. How do you feel ? Are you feeling pain anywhere ?”

“I'm fine, I'm fine. I just feel a little stiff…” he replied, stretching his arms above his head.

“The healer said that you had tetany, probably because of the pain caused by the curse used through your connection with Potter.”

“ _ Mens Carcerio _ , right ? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Yes. It's a spell that traps a person in their own mind. It’s ancient magic, extremely difficult to master.”

“Sternwood is reputed to be a rather mediocre wizard.”

“Which may explain why the spell nearly killed Harry. Without your intervention, he wouldn’t have survived. Mediwizards are looking for a counterspell right as we speak.”

Ron turned his head towards the window, observing the passage of the clouds in the sky for a few minutes, before asking, “Did you see him, too, in the white desert ?”

She looked at him in confusion, “See what ?”

After delivering his full report to Robards, and insisting that he felt fine, Ron decided to go home until the counterspell was found. He was exhausted, both physically and psychologically. So, Padma hadn’t been there during the last sequence, in this empty white space. Was it Harry's real consciousness that he had met then, or was it a figment of his imagination when he had passed out ?

He told Hermione about the last dive, and she listened to him without interrupting him. Her face was serious, preoccupied, and at the same time he could read the deep sadness in her eyes, as she realized that Harry was probably far beyond any redemption. He concluded, “Now, all we have to do is wait for him to wake up.”

It wasn't until a few hours later that Robards finally contacted him. “He woke up gradually at the end of the afternoon, the spell did not leave any visible after effects.”

“Have you been able to speak to him ?”

“He was not exactly cooperative, rather the opposite actually. The healers have insisted on keeping him under surveillance tonight, we will transfer him to the Ministry tomorrow.”

“Weasley ? Weasley !!”

The pressing voice was coming from the living room. Disoriented, he straightened up, glancing at the bedroom clock. Twelve past four. Feeling suddenly awake, he rushed out of the room, towards the fireplace where Robards' head appeared, licked by the green flames, an alarmed expression on his face.

“Robards ?!”

“You must immediately come to the office, Ronald, there is an emergency !”

Despite the extremely early hour, the conference room was in full effervescence when he arrived. He immediately found his supervisor, anxiously standing in the midst of notes arriving from all sides, flying in as well as brought to him by his subordinates. He asked the man what was going on.

“Potter has escaped,” replied Robards, clearly exhausted. “Vasilyev had obviously placed men in St Mungo from the start. A few hours ago, they eliminated our agents there and helped him escape.”

“Shit. Fuck ! This is a bloody nightmare !” He had thought it was finally over. All his frustration mixed with his fatigue resurfaced.

“I sent aurors to Grimmauld Place, but I highly doubt he'll go there,” continued Robards.

“What about Briggs and Lopez ?”

“Still nowhere to be found.”

“The prosecutor's home, Jae-son Lee ?”

“Empty. The man also vanished without leaving a trace.”

“Vasilyev's restaurant ! The _ Trans-Siberian _ . He’s likely to take refuge there.”

“I already sent Williamson’s team on surveillance, he’ll keep us informed if there is any movement.”

A young auror approached them, visibly anxious. “We ... We received a note from the kennel of the Department of the Regulation of Magical Creatures ... Potter's dog was recovered two days ago, with a warrant from a muggle prosecutor, for an ongoing case …”

“Why weren't we made aware ?”

“It ... It looks like the auror that showed up was ... You, Mr. Weasley.”

They looked at each other. Robards dropped the documents he had in his hand on the table.

“Damn it. They must have gotten one of your hair in Potter's room in St Mungo.”

Alderson suddenly burst into the room, running to them, a package in his hands. “Boss ! It just came in for you ! It’s marked urgent !”

He placed it on the table in front of them. Ron opened the kraft paper and his eyes widened. He had already seen these documents, obtained thanks to appalling threats. David Hammond's list of activities and contacts written by Simon Brewster, on the twelfth floor of a tower under construction, at night. There was enough evidence there to convict the Director of the Justice Department and send him to spend the rest of his life at Azkaban.

“Who sent that ?!” he asked, briskly turning to Alderson.

“There is no sender. Just an anonymous note saying " _ it might be useful _ ".”

Robards, who was turning the pages one after the other, intervened, “We must immediately inform Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

The sun had risen for a few hours and the day was visibly going to be gloomy, the gray clouds forming a uniform covering over the city. He was on his fifth cup of coffee of the morning when the huge translucent bear of Williamson's patronus appeared in the middle of the room, interrupting the lively conversations of the aurors.

“Urgent report ! There has been an explosion in the  _ Trans-Siberian _ , the building was completely blown away. We saw Potter and one of his accomplices come out of the rubble, but they apparated before we could intercept them.” He paused. Absolute silence reigned in the conference room. “We found the body of Bogdan Vasilyev. He is dead.”

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the tumult of exclamations and discussions, every man and woman trying to understand the implications of Williamson's words.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had arrived as soon as he was informed of what was going on, called for order and calm. Along with Robards, they firmly took control of the operations, no information being allowed to leave the room without their consent.

It was now obvious to Ron that Harry was going to go after Hammond, he didn't even want to imagine what his old friend was like at the moment. He had just lost the man he had come to regard as a father figure, Sasha's father, for whom he had embarked on a frantic quest for revenge, up to the point of losing his own mind.

The auror himself felt a wave of sadness mixed with the pain, which he knew came from the transfer caused by diving into Harry's memories. He did share his reflection with his superiors.

“It is crucial to arrest David Hammond and his men before Potter can reach them, to bring them to justice for their crimes,” Shacklebolt declared, after gathering the aurors around him.

“He lives in a villa on the southern coast of the country,” Robards continued. “According to our information, as well as what we have learned from the documents written by Brewster, he has about twenty personal guards monitoring his property day and night. He will surely expect retribution from Potter, but not from the aurors.”

“The main objective remains Hammond but if the opportunity arises, Harry Potter must also be captured.” Shacklebolt concluded.

After having prepared their strategy at length, the various teams selected for the mission -a total of twenty men- got ready with apprehension.

Ron was fitting his dragon skin protectors over his uniform when Crane and Morton approached.

“Alderson has decided to sit this one out and stay at HQ, he doesn't feel ready after our last raid,” Crane said, helping him pass a strap behind his arm.

“It's probably for the better. How do you feel ?”

“We’re good, but we should be the ones asking you this, Ron,” Morton said softly. “Merlin, to dive into the unconscious of your best friend to find out ... All of that ... I can’t even dare imagine what you might have felt.”

He looked at her, scrutinizing her concerned face. “Don't worry, I'm fine.”

“Anyway, one thing is certain, once everything’s over, I’m going to ask for a position in the administration.”

“And miss all this action ?! You must be crazy, girl !” Crane exclaimed with a smile.

The twenty auror apparated directly in front of the walls surrounding the villa, hidden under their disillusionment spells. Without wasting a moment, they placed the anti-apparition barriers in silence, and this time, complemented them with portkey inhibiting spells. The floo network had been deactivated from the Ministry, eliminating any possibility of escaping them.

They stealthily entered the property. In the large courtyard, they didn’t encounter any guards, advancing rapidly towards the main building, a large house with sand-colored walls and Arab-inspired architecture. At the front of the building were two protrusions supporting large terraces framed by oriental arcades. On the sides, the two wings were dominated by tall square towers made of ocher stones and wood.

As the Aurors advanced, they found themselves facing another group of men, far fewer in number and less well equipped. Ron immediately recognized Harry, dressed in the same clothes as the day of his arrest, which he had probably put back on while fleeing from St Mungo. One side of his face was sporting deep cuts, that had visibly been treated in a rush, and traces of blood were still visible near the collar of his t-shirt which rose slightly on his neck. Ron had no doubt he was hiding other injuries under his clothes.

His eyes were dark, filled with rage and hatred, his entire body seemed tense, reflecting his state of mind, and Ron wondered if he was still able to think rationally. Around him, he recognized some of Vasilyev's men, notably Aslan, in a similar state as Harry. The two groups scrutinized each other, wands raised, in absolute silence.

Harry was the first one to speak, commanding with a determined voice, “Get out of my way, Ron” 

“What are you going to do Harry ?”

“I’m going to kill David Hammond and you can’t stop me.”

“I can't let you do that. You'll have to go through me first to get to him.”

“And add your blood on top of all the sins I already have to pay for ? Must you be so cruel ?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Hammond has to be brought to justice. He must receive the punishment he deserves, the humiliation he deserves.” He paused, then resumed, trying one last time to reason with the man in front of him, “Help me stop him, together, you and me.”

Harry didn't answer, still looking intently at him.

Suddenly, a curse struck one of the aurors behind Ron and she collapsed with an expression of surprise etched on her face. Hammond's guards, hidden in the building, were launching the attack.

In a single movement, the two groups positioned themselves in front of their attackers, Harry and Ron finding themselves side by side, wands raised, ready to defend themselves. Aslan was to the left of his partner, Crane and Morton, to the right of the red-haired young man. Aurors and criminals formed a large semicircle around the house, blocking the exits.

Time seemed to stop a few seconds before the spells started to fly, attack against defense, defense against attack. Ron could feel Harry moving on his side, casting first a  _ protego _ , then a  _ confringo _ , hitting his target who was thrown over the railing of the balcony they had been standing on.

The Auror stunned a guard who stood near the entrance to the villa. Little by little, they managed to break through the defenses of their opponents and entered the house.

After the entrance hall, passing under tall arcades, still in oriental style, they arrived in an interior patio, without ceiling, from where they could observe the open floors overhanging it, surrounded by railings richly decorated with multi-lobed arches . All around the patio, taking cover behind large columns, Hammond’s guards continued to make spells and curses rain.

“David Hammond !! You are under arrest by order of the Ministry of Magic !” Ron shouted hiding behind a pillar in the hallway.

The aurors retaliated, protecting themselves behind the patio furniture, gradually advancing inward. Ron followed them carefully, realizing that he had lost sight of Harry. A jet of red light ricocheted on the ground close to his feet. He looked up at the source of the spell and met Sternwood's gaze.

Dazed, wearing a royal blue silk robe, he was frantically casting curses around him, trying to hit the aurors by chance.

Ron rushed over to him, wand at the ready. “ _ Expelliarmus _ !”

“ _ Protego _ !” Sternwood countered, his shield flickering weakly under the impact of Ron’s spell.

“ _ Stupefy _ !” The streak of red light hit the blond man on the shoulder and he collapsed. The auror pointed again his wand at him, “ _ Incarcerem _ !”

Once he was satisfied with the quality of his restraining spell, Ron positioned the unconscious undersecretary seated with his back against one of the patio columns. He was backing away when a blue beam of light coming from behind passed over his head and violently crashed higher on the same column. Eyes wide, he could only watch helplessly as debris of ocher rock fell on Sternwood. While it was true that he did not like the man, he never would have wished him such an end.

A desperate cry from his left brought him out of his stupor and he turned his head at the same time as Aslan threw himself into the path of a curse aimed at Harry right under the dark haired man's eyes.

“ASLAN !” he yelled, rushing forward to catch the man before he fell to the ground.

Shaking his shoulders and screaming at him to wake up, his voice was breaking every time he called his name. Ron then saw him look up and followed his gaze. Upstairs, overlooking the patio, David Hammond, wand in hand, was staring down at him, a rabid expression on his flushed face.

Harry stood up abruptly and rushed to the stairs at the other end of the room. Ron's heart was pounding in his chest. He immediately followed suit, dodging the curses thrown at him. They found themselves side by side again on the stairs, trying to take shelter from the spells cast by Hammond and his guards.

They looked at each other and Harry nodded. Ron sprang out of the stairs while the other man covered him, inexhaustibly casting spells after spells. He found himself in a wide hallway, catching sight of his target who was trying to flee and started to chase him. In the opposite corridor, on the other side of the patio, he could see Harry effectively and brutally getting rid of the wizards in his way.

They met in front of the large terraces they had seen from the outside, visible behind the open arches. Hammond stood barely a few yards away from them.

Ron raised his wand and cast a first spell. “ _ Stupefy _ !”

The man deflected it effortlessly, before turning his weapon towards him. “ _ Diffindo _ !”

Ron raised his shield in time but recoiled from the strength of the spell. Before he could launch his next attack, he was knocked to the ground by an  _ expulso _ , and sent sliding to the end of the corridor.

He got up and felt a sharp pain in his left arm, making him fear that it might be broken. He could see Harry rushing towards Hammond, and the two men engaged into a vicious duel, rivaling with more violent curses each.

A guard suddenly came up the stairs and Ron reacted immediately. “ _ Fulgari _ !”

His target found himself thrown to the ground without having had time to realize what was happening. The auror stunned and hindered him. As he stood up, a huge explosion coming from the ground floor rocked the house, shaking the entire structure, and pieces of the ceiling and walls began to fall, the ground cracking under his feet.

He crouched by a railing, protecting his head with his unharmed arm, and looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of Harry. He spotted him, just outside the hallway, on one of the terraces. Standing straight, panting, blood pouring from injuries on his arm and head, he was holding his wand pointed at Hammond. The older man was on his knees in front of him, his empty hands open wide at his side, his lips were moving but Ron was too far away to hear their conversation.

Suddenly, an expression of pure hatred transformed the young man's features, his lips curling up into a parody of smile. He waved his wand and shouted, “ _ sectumsempra  _ !”

Ron rushed towards him at the same time, yelling, “Harry ! NO !”

The spell struck the man in the throat, severing flesh, tendons and arteries simultaneously, and blood spurted, adding to the blood already present on Harry's face. David Hammond fell to the ground, dead. By thus killing him, the ex-auror had just sealed his fate ; if he was captured, he would at best go to Azkaban for the rest of his life, at worst he would receive the dementor's kiss.

Ron and Harry were alone, both facing each other, their silhouettes standing out under the large arch overlooking the terrace. The dark clouds now obscured the sky, plunging them into an almost nocturnal half-light, only lit by the flames ravaging the destroyed furniture down in the patio.

“Harry ! It's over, they're all dead ! You have to surrender now !”

“I can't, Ron ! It is not over ! I have to make them pay, I have to make everyone pay !”

The glow of the flames was reflecting in his eyes, making his gaze look like it was burning. He was covered in blood, panting and fiercely smiling. He seemed to have completely lost his mind. “I already told you, I won’t surrender without fighting !”

“Look at you ! Look what you've become ! You look like a bloody madman ! You are not any better than them !” Ron yelled, extending his arm to the side. “You are not any better than Voldemort !”

“I think you and I are finished,” Harry coldly hissed.

Without a moment of hesitation, he raised his wand and cast the first spell, forcing the auror to back down the hall. Ron could feel anger and hatred overwhelming him, aware that these emotions were the residual effects of the transfer, but he was unable to deal with them. Little by little, they took over and slowly engulfed him, pushing him to respond to his opponent's attacks with the same determination.

He was no longer the man he knew, his best friend, with whom he had grown up, his brother. He had betrayed him and all of their friends and family and was now trying to hurt him, or worse, consumed by his quest for endless revenge.

He was about to stun him when Harry threw himself at him and pushed his arm up, causing the spell to crash into the ceiling, making pieces of debris falling around them. His other hand was clinging to the biceps of the red-haired auror to keep him from moving, and only grunts of effort were coming out of their mouths through their clenched teeth as they tried to overpower each other. Ron suddenly hit him in the groin with his knee and his opponent released him, quickly recoiling. They resumed their duel, exchanging spells against spells without any dead time, increasing in their intensity.

“ _ Fulgari _ !”

“ _ Scalpero  _ !” Harry shouted, narrowly dodging the previous attack.

“ _ Protego  _ !” the auror was a second too late, the jet of blue light painfully cutting into his upper thigh.

With a powerful  _ expulso _ , Ron sent his opponent hurtling to the ground. Harry landed against the railing overlooking the still active battlefield in the interior patio. He stood up with difficulty, holding his left side with his arm, and spat out a mouthful of blood. He looked up at Ron.

“Your curses still feel affectionate,” he said in a low voice. He was visibly having a hard time to breathe properly.

Before the auror could respond, the weakened ground gave way and Harry disappeared.

Ron remained frozen in place, not immediately understanding what had just happened. Then all of a sudden he rushed to the stairs, running down the steps and soared into the patio, where the last remaining guards were being rounded up by the aurors.

He instantly spotted Harry amid the debris, he had one knee on the ground, his other leg bent under him, and was trying to get up while taking out a long metal rod that had apparently impaled him in his left flank during his fall.

Covered in blood, with a grimace of pain on his face, he looked up at Ron when he heard him approach. His intense gaze focused on him before his broken and exhausted body tipped to the side and hit the ground.

Closing the distance between them in two quick strides, Ron dropped to his knees beside him. He put his unharmed hand over Harry's, covering the bleeding wound left by the metal rod. He felt his friend push him away with his other hand, without taking his eyes off Ron. He let his arm fall back, feeling utterly helpless. He could see the young man's chest rise asymmetrically and bright red blood was flowing from his mouth and nose ; terrified, he didn't dare think about what it meant.

Then Ron saw his eyes slowly settle on something above his shoulder and, in one last exhalation, he smiled. The auror perceived the exact moment when the light in his eyes went out, his face slackening, followed by the relaxation of his whole body. His fist clenched in the fabric of Harry’s t-shirt, a sob violently racking him, and he leaned forward, until his head touched the still chest of the young man lying on the ground.

They were eleven years old, and they met for the first time, platform 9 ¾, on the way for their first year at Hogwarts.

They were twelve years old, and they were flying over London in the blue Ford Anglia, chasing after the Hogwarts Express.

They were fourteen years old, and they were training to dance the waltz together in preparation for the Yule Ball.

They were fifteen years old, and Harry was standing next to Ron, a hand on his arm after visiting his father in St Mungo.

They were seventeen years old, and Ron had just saved Harry’s life in the snowy forest.

They were twenty years old, and had just finished a game of quidditch in the big field behind the Burrow, a big smile spreading on their faces.

They were twenty-eight years old, and Ron was curled over the lifeless body of his best friend.

  
  


Ron didn't know how long he had been sitting there, his hands on his thighs, palms upwards, in the garden outside the large, half-destroyed villa. When the first drops of rain fell on his face, he looked up, closing his eyes, letting the downpour wash away the blood, take away his emotions, and his tears mixed with the water running down his cheeks.  _ It was finally over _ .


	13. Epilogue - Pace

The tables in the Great Hall were filling up little by little, the students slowly waking up on this friday morning, happy to finally have reached the last day of the week.

Teddy settled into his usual seat, facing the large windows from where he could see the rays of the april sun filtering in and illuminating the large room. The soft murmur of conversations was interrupted by the sudden arrival of mail, dozens of owls of all kinds rushed through the windows, delivering letters and parcels to their recipients.

Several birds landed in front of him, some of which he recognized immediately. Ron and Hermione's little owl, his grandmother's beautiful barn owl, Molly and Arthur Weasley’s eagle-owl. All of them brought him packets of various sizes and colors.

“You are so spoiled, Teddy !” Victoire joyfully exclaimed, appearing beside him. “Happy Birthday ! Seventeen years old, you are now an adult !”

She placed an envelope on his plate and kissed him on the cheek before running to join her Ravenclaw friends, laughing as she did so.

With a smile on his face, the young man turned his attention back to the packages while his friends gently teased him. His gaze was drawn to a shy tawny he didn't recognize. He grabbed the small package it was holding between its claws, giving it a piece of bacon in exchange. Tearing the kraft paper covering the package, he discovered a pretty steel blue wooden box.

Inside the box was a beautiful old watch. He couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity when he saw it and, if he closed his eyes, he could for a moment find himself in a large garden on a beautiful summer day, surrounded by laughter, the heat caressing gently his face... He opened his eyes again, the memory dissipating, and read the little anonymous note placed at the bottom of the box.

“ _ He would have wanted you to have it _ .”


End file.
